


Bittersweet Symphonies

by AuroraNova



Series: Private Universe [5]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: AU, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Cardassia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: Julian and Garak agreed they belong to different worlds. Once Julian's world no longer wants him, he has to know if Garak's might have a place for him, after all.Or, Julian Bashir's guide to practical romance.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Now we come to the final installment of this series. I hope everyone enjoys. =) 
> 
> I kept writing this one in present tense without meaning to until I gave up and accepted the switch is required for immediacy. After a certain point, there's no arguing with the story.

Against all odds, the war is won and Garak has survived to see his exile over. He always imagined this would be a happy day, but it is not. The Cardassia he knew is dead, and he does not think it will ever recover. Not in his lifetime, certainly. Some parts of it deserved to die, even needed to for the greater good, but so much more that was beautiful is lost as well. So many lives destroyed by Dukat’s folly, more than the mind can begin to comprehend, make this a very solemn day indeed.

Then, of course, there is the matter of saying goodbye to Julian, as much as they can where others might hear. Compared to all the devastation and carnage inflicted by the Dominion, the always-inevitable end of his time with Julian ought not matter at all. Somehow, it still does. Garak, for once lacking the mental energy to chastise himself over excessive sentiment, makes no attempt to deny this fact in his private reflection.

He is relieved Julian lived through the war. He will miss the man more than he cares to admit, but takes great solace in knowing Julian will be alive and thriving, no doubt making quite a name for himself in Federation medical circles. Better this than a parting through death. That doesn’t mean it’s enjoyable.

“I’m going to miss our lunches together,” he says. An innocuous remark to any eavesdroppers, but Julian is clever enough to know he means much more.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

Still an optimist, after all these years. Garak can only marvel. “I’d like to think so, but one can never say. We live in uncertain times.”

It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult to say goodbye. He never assumed he and Julian had any kind of future together. (Frankly, he’s surprised they’ve shared as many years as they have, in no small part because he fully expected to be dead by now.) Even when they added a sexual dimension to their friendship, it wasn’t intended to be serious. Then they found themselves _anbarad_ , and somewhere along the way, Garak grew attached. Now, as they are saying their farewells, he realizes he may have let Julian become part of him. That was most unwise.

He always found the Standard phrase ‘falling in love’ to be absurd. Falling doesn’t have pleasant connotations, and humans are very attached to their lofty views of love. Comparing such deep emotion to, for example, what happens when one overestimates one’s ability to leap over a creek and subsequently lands in said creek… Garak thought it a peculiar choice of words indeed.

Now, he has to admit there is similarity. Julian is part of Garak, but he’s about to leave, and all told, it’s not unlike finding himself in an unceremonious heap three-quarters of the way across a frigid creek: he’s bewildered at the turn of events, he’s lost all sense of control, and he wonders how he misjudged the situation and himself so badly.

In retrospect, the creek was orders of magnitude more tolerable.

Julian’s eyes show his own sorrow, and he isn’t even the one standing on his ruined homeworld. He’s not finding their parting to be pleasant, either.

“My dear doctor,” says Garak, gambling that any listeners-in are not familiar with four-hundred-year-old human fantasy novels, “I am not Aragorn, and neither are you.”

His splendid memory allows Julian to grasp his meaning. Years ago, Garak had called the character in question extremely selfish for expecting the one he loved to give up her home and immortality that they might be together.

_“He took her from her people, her family, and her heritage. It’s a heinous thing to do to the person one claims to love. Not very loving at all, I’d say.”_

To a Cardassian, there is nothing crueler one could ask of a person than to give up their home and heritage, their very identity. If someone has indeed become part of oneself, such a request is unthinkable. There is no devotion without sacrifice, after all.

Julian nods sadly. Yes, he understands perfectly. Garak belongs on Cardassia, broken though she may be, and Julian belongs in his Federation with its shining ideals and boundless optimism. “I’ll miss our lunches, too. Take care of yourself, Garak.”

“I always do.” He gives his _anbaras_ one final pat on the shoulder. “It has been a pleasure, Doctor.”

Sentiment is a very great weakness indeed, but Garak, ever in the service of Cardassia, remains strong enough to walk away from Julian Bashir and begin the process of rebuilding his beloved world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And my Valentine's Day gift to you all is - an angsty prologue!
> 
> As I established in the second-to-last snapshot, 'you are part of me' is the Cardassi equivalent to 'I love you.' I like the idea that some concepts don't translate literally, so I am writing with the premise that there is no Cardassi word or concept that would equate to love. There is devotion and there is one being a part of yourself, both in the romantic form, but not love as an emotion per se.


	2. The Long Shadow of Khan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy instrumental music, [ Beautiful Mind ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T3ituPlrNCY) captures the emotion of this story perfectly, and has been on heavy rotation during the writing process.

Even as he’s picking himself up off the floor, Julian muses that this is one hell of a plasma storm, and he sees a stark choice laid out before him: his career or Kira’s life.

His reflexes are good enough that he dodged the pylon as it fell. Kira wasn’t able to, and it’s pinned her at the shoulders. Worse, it’s settling at a rapid pace, with a long, jagged end of durasteel heading directly for her carotid artery. She has a matter of seconds.

There’s no time to get Patel from across the room to help lift the pylon, because the ensign is still crawling out from under his own mess of debris, and by the time the two of them can free Kira, she’ll be bleeding out. The internal transporters are down. She would be dead before he got her to the infirmary.

Kira or the life he’s built for himself. He can have one or the other, but not both, and in the end, there’s no doubt in his mind.

No regular human could lift the pylon, not with Julian’s build, anyway. Kira probably wouldn’t think much of it, but Ensign Patel is a different matter. His brother was an archaeologist who discovered an old Augment hideout from the twentieth century and succumbed to a particularly nasty virus Khan’s followers had designed. Patel deals with his grief by trying to protect the Federation from an ongoing Augment threat he’s imagined. The cycle of hatred and fear continues in the ensign, who’s too young to understand that sometimes you have to let go of the past if you want a better future.

Julian lets go of his present as well as his past, and he shoves the pylon up enough that Kira is able to scoot out from under it, gasping and coughing but alive.

Patel scrambles out a minute later and attempts to lift the durasteel without success. “That’s not possible. Nobody could lift that.”

“Obviously he did,” says Kira.

“You can’t be that strong.”

Kira scowls at the ensign. “Stop complaining that he saved my life and start getting the subroutine ready.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Julian is here because they’re pulling up an old Cardassian subroutine in the computer, and he admitted to reading ‘a bit’ of Cardassi rather than let someone hope the damaged Federation software can translate. Kira is there because she has some experience with sabotaging atmospheric filters which might transfer over to repairing them.

He wishes Miles were there, and he suspects Kira does too.

Patel is going to put it together, Julian knows. The ensign’s boundless hatred of Augments isn’t exactly a secret around here, and Julian ends up reading a lot more Cardassi than he expected, which is only going to look more suspicious. There’s nothing to be done about it, so he focuses on making sure the station’s population doesn’t die of carbon monoxide poisoning.

They get the filters running, in a fashion. It’ll do temporarily, at least. Patel is still looking at Julian with distrust, and on the way out he tries to life the pylon again.

“You’re too strong,” he tells Julian. “Too fast dodging it, too.”

“What is your problem?” asks Kira in a voice that’s silenced many an ensign. Unfortunately, not this one.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice all those lucky guesses for someone who barely speaks Cardassi,” continues Patel. “With respect, Colonel, you should be dead now.”

“I for one am glad I’m not.”

“You would be dead, if Bashir was an honest-to-God human. But he’s not. He’s an Augment.”

“What’s an Augment?”

There’s no point in denying it. Patel is right; Kira would be dead and the station may or may not be suffering the early stages of carbon monoxide poisoning soon. Barring blind luck, the odds without anyone able to read Cardassi skew heavily towards imminent carbon monoxide poisoning, and the engineering team really ought to do something about that.

He probably could’ve gotten away with the Cardassi if he hadn’t just displayed his physical augmentations, but saving Kira was the right thing to do, and that’s what counts. Saving people is Julian’s guiding purpose in life.

Of course, if you want to get into the good he’s done, without even considering the lives an average doctor could’ve saved, the list is longer than the present crisis. Another doctor might have been able to save Kirayoshi, but not all could’ve considered the intricate variables in time for an emergency interspecies fetal transfer, and the likelihood of anyone else managing it in time to preserve perfect health is somewhere around one-third of one percent (fully two and a half percent for a Vulcan doctor). Nobody could’ve saved Jadzia, he knows and has even accepted. He doesn’t think anyone else but a Trill physician could’ve saved Dax, and for that matter, neither did the Symbiosis Commission in the letter of commendation it sent him. His fast reading and near-perfect recall saved the symbiont. Fourteen other people come to mind.

But it doesn’t matter, does it? What he does with his abilities is irrelevant. He’s not allowed to have them at all, and instead of denying the obvious, he starts mentally composing the letter of resignation which might, if he’s lucky, spare him a court-martial.

And yet, as his life begins to fall apart, Julian is strangely at peace. He’s read the histories and knows Khan and his followers viewed their lives as more valuable than other, non-augmented human lives. They proclaimed that they could accomplish more, so when it came to conflict, they deserved the greater chance to live.

A small part of Julian, one he’s done his best to bury since he lied on his Starfleet application and swore to himself that he’d never let anyone die to protect his secret, has always wondered how he’d react in such a situation. Now he knows. He kept his promise to himself and held to his line in the sand.

His career isn’t worth Kira’s life. Not even if he could save other people along the way, because that road is too dangerous to travel. It would never make up for letting Kira die, anyway, and Julian is no Khan. He’s not going to offer up a convenient justification for himself.

Starfleet may choose to lump him in with tyrants, but Julian has proven to his own satisfaction that he isn’t one.

* * *

 

He’s right about the resignation. Like Garak once told him, visibility offers some insurance, and Starfleet JAG is willing to let him go quietly in light of his contributions to the war effort. No court-martial or publicity of any kind. They don’t want to sully the heroic image of DS9’s crew, and have even strictly ordered Patel to keep his mouth shut.

Kira doesn’t understand the big deal and spends the better part of the following morning arguing with every admiral she can contact, which Julian appreciates even though he knows it’s hopeless. She then offers to get him licensed on Bajor and insist he remain on the station as a Bajoran doctor, but they both know Bajor will likely be joining the Federation soon, and even if that wasn’t the case, Command will never let him treat Starfleet personnel.

She’s still railing against irrational Federation phobias when Julian submits his resignation.

He’s sitting in his quarters, having just sent a tersely worded letter to his parents, when his door chimes. “Come in.”

It’s Ezri. “I’m sorry, Julian.”

There’s really nothing he can say which will begin to cover his response to her concern. “I wish it hadn’t come to this, but I’m not sorry for the choice I made yesterday. Kira would have died if I held myself back. I wasn’t willing to live with that, and if I was, I’d be no better than any of the Augments of the twentieth century.”

“I’m not very familiar with that period in Earth history,” she says. “You don’t have to convince me you’re a good person. I know you are.”

“Even though I lied?”

“You couldn’t have had much of a life if you didn’t.”

“No. And for what it’s worth, other than pretending not to be an Augment, I never lied about who I am. It wasn’t all some elaborate charade.”

“I figured,” says Ezri. “I’m not mad at you, Julian. Have you spent your whole life expecting people would be?”

“Since I was fifteen and my parents told me what they’d had done to me, yes.”

“Your parents…” Her eyes widen in realization. “That’s why you declined the LMH project.”

“Yes.”

“The ban on genetic engineering is something Trill has always gone along with because it didn’t bother us. Genetic engineering might have meant more people would want to be eligible for symbionts, and our leaders couldn’t let that happen. Besides, we like to think we’ve reached evolutionary perfection without any help.” She wrinkles her nose in disapproval at that last bit. “But I never really stopped to think of how this discrimination hurts people. I should have.”

“It’s easy to ignore if you think there aren’t any of us except for the unfortunate, disturbed souls kept in facilities for their own safety.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “If there’s anything I can do…”

He accepts the genuine offer of help, and the continuing friendship that comes with it. “I’ll let you know.”

“Have you decided what’s next?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

She gives him a little smile. “I was just checking. You’d better keep in touch.”

“I will,” he says, and he means it. He always thought his friends, the Federation ones at least, would shun him once they knew. Maybe sometimes he dared to dream otherwise, but it was a dangerous road he rarely dared travel. The reaction from those closest to him has, so far, been everything he ever wanted. It eases the sting a bit.

Once Ezri leaves, it’s late enough in San Francisco to comm Miles, who clearly hasn’t had his coffee yet. “Julian, you have terrible timing.”

“So sorry to bother you,” he says. “I just wanted you to hear it from me that I’ve resigned my commission.” His medical license will be revoked in a matter of hours, but that hurts too much to mention.

“What? Why?”

“I lied on my Starfleet application. I was… slow, as a child, so my parents brought me outside the Federation for accelerated critical neural pathway formation.”

Miles doesn’t look enlightened.

“Otherwise known as complete genetic resequencing.” When that doesn’t provoke immediate comprehension, he lays it all out. “I’m an Augment. Mental abilities, strength, reflexes, hand-eye coordination. You name it, it was probably enhanced.”

Miles just stares for a minute. When he finally speaks, he says the last thing Julian expected. “I never won a game of darts fairly, did I?”

Julian can’t help but give him a wry smile. “Define ‘fairly’ when you’re playing someone illegally enhanced. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the lies.” More than he can ever express.

“It couldn’t have all been a lie.”

“No. The one was large enough, though.” When Miles doesn’t say anything, he elaborates. “I could’ve won at darts or gotten more hits on Luftwaffe planes, yes. I hid the full extent of my abilities, but I never pretended to be someone I wasn’t in terms of personality or friendships.” That’s what he really wants Miles to know, and he can only hope this truth is accepted.

“I know.”

“You do?”

“If you’d been pretending to like me all along, you wouldn’t be sitting there worrying about my reaction.”

Julian relaxes. Miles can be very perceptive when he wants to be. “No. No, I would not.” Finally able to trust that Miles doesn’t hate him, he adds, “I’ve had years to come up with all the ways this conversation could go badly.”

“I don’t think I’ve told you lately that you think too much,” says Miles.

“Now you know why.”

Miles is unconcerned. “Because you’re you, that’s why.”

With that, in true Miles O’Brien form, the emotional aspect of this conversation is over. That’s fine by Julian, who still hasn’t entirely mastered such discussions and probably never will. He’s just relieved they’re still talking at all.

“Why now?” asks Miles.

“I had to lift a durasteel pylon to save Kira. Ensign Patel, whose hatred of Augments is well-known, realized I shouldn’t have been able to.” He gives his best approximation of a casual shrug he doesn’t feel. “Translating Cardassi to get the backup atmospheric filters running probably didn’t help, either, but the point is, I wasn’t willing to let Kira die to save my career.”

Another pause while Miles takes all this in, and then he asks, “Has anyone pointed out how different that makes you from Khan and his type?”

“Funnily enough, no.” But Julian knows, and that’s sufficient.

“Julian.”

“Yes?”

“Yoshi’s pediatrician can’t believe you managed an interspecies fetal transfer so quickly, let along without him having any problems.”

Ah. Miles has put two and two together. Ezri will later, when she starts to wonder if another non-Trill doctor could’ve saved Dax, or maybe she already wonders and didn’t want to be rude. He’ll have to tell her she can ask anything she wants. He has nothing left to hide about his abilities, now, and after all the years of lies (mostly of omission rather than commission, but those are just as false), he thinks his friends deserve the full truth. Even if giving it to them is draining, and he’s full of renewed appreciation for Garak’s ability to understand the truth within the lies.

“I never thought much of it, but Dr. Anderson has gone on about this miracle.”

“Yes,” says Julian. “Yes, my enhanced abilities allowed me to make the necessary medical calculations and consider all relevant factors in time to save Yoshi and preserve his health.” It wasn’t like there was any precedent for the procedure between humans and a Bajoran woman, and balancing the requisite hormones was delicate work. It’d been a closer call than Julian had ever admitted.  

“God,” says Miles. “And now they’re punishing you for it.”

“I always knew this was a possibility.” Again, he’s warmed by Miles’ acceptance. Maybe even more than Kira’s or Ezri’s, because Miles is human, and in some ways a very traditional one at that.

“It’s not right. You’re not a monster. There hasn’t even been a case like this for a hundred years.”

“I lied. There are consequences.” He can practically hear Garak’s voice saying, _Well, if you get caught._ “I never asked for this. I was six years old and had no idea what my parents had done to me, but they confessed when I was a teenager and I applied to Starfleet Medical anyway. I won’t deny I knew I was doing something illegal. And yet, I like to think I’ve proven the point you made, that not all Augments have irredeemable superiority complexes meaning we’re destined for conquest.”

“That you have,” said Miles.

“Kira offered to arrange for me to get a Bajoran medical license.”

Miles knows him well enough to see where this is going. “But you aren’t going to.”

“No. I’m going to Cardassia. I’ll be allowed to practice medicine there once I pass the tests.” Which won’t be very hard if he can only get his hands on some medical texts. He may be glossing over a few difficulties in the process, and he’s not sure for whose benefit.

“That’s not the only attraction,” mutters Miles.

“No,” agrees Julian with a small smile. “It’s not.”

“Will Garak be okay with this?”

“He knows.” Julian doesn’t want Miles to be offended, thinking he trusted Garak enough to share his secret but not him, so he hurries to explain. “My parents mentioned it when they were here. They thought I was alone in my quarters, but Garak was in the bedroom. He doesn’t care about the enhancements, though he didn’t hesitate to share his low opinion of my parents’ secret-keeping abilities.”

“I’m glad you’ve got someone in your corner,” says Miles.

“I don’t know how we’ll work in a long-term relationship…”

“Julian, you were in a relationship with Garak for years. A weird one, yes. Still a long-term relationship.”

“But we never talked about the future.”

This gets him a disbelieving squint. “Never?”

“We always focused strictly on the present.”

Miles shakes his head. “And people say I’m bad at talking about feelings.”

“As I was saying, there aren’t any guaranties, but I have to try.”

Miles nods. “You’d better send me your comm code. And your address; I hear Federation relief workers are starting to get care packages.”

“I won’t be a Federation relief worker.”

“Just give me your address so I can send you some whisky. God knows you’re going to need it.”

Julian promises to do so, and to keep in touch as best he can. He feels much better for knowing Miles is still his friend.


	3. When One Door Closes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In some ways this is the emotional climax for the entire Private Universe series. I hope you all enjoy. =)

Julian needs to go quietly, with as much dignity as he can muster, and to that end he books himself passage on the first transport heading to Cardassia.

It’s surprising how few possessions he leaves the station with after seven years. Aside from the basics of personal hygiene and his lightest clothes, he has several paper books, including a volume of Iloja’s poetry in three languages, a favorite of Jadzia’s which Worf gave him. To this he adds his chess board, padds full of more books, and solar chargers which ought to last indefinitely. He replicates a personal cooling unit, which he imagines will be important. Kukalaka comes along, of course. The rest – most of his clothing, everything decorating his quarters, his holoprograms – simply isn’t that important.

Food is, therefore, he uses every last replicator credit on a variety of ration bars and nutrient drink mixes, and a generous supply of electrolyte supplements.

Finally, he opens the safe he brought from Garak’s quarters and adds the latinum to his bag. There’s just enough room for Ziyal’s painting. He leaves the rest of Garak’s belongings in storage, as Garak hasn’t yet gotten around to indicating what he wants done with them.

He’s packed. Now has a few goodbyes to make, and he starts with the easiest: Quark.

“I heard you’ve resigned from Starfleet,” says their resident entrepreneur.

“You heard correctly.”

“Going to Cardassia?”

“How did you guess?”

“Please. I have ears and eyes, and I know what Cardassian mating behavior looks like.”

That settles the question of whether Quark, minus any incentive to keep his mouth shut, is capable of discretion. Unless he had incentive in the form of a healthy concern over what Garak would do if he blabbed, which is a strong possibility now that Julian thinks about it. His own fearlessness in regards to Garak has always been the exception, something widely considered reckless but which worked out for him nevertheless.

“I am going to miss you,” adds Quark.

“Because, as the Fifty-Seventh Rule of Acquisition says, good customers are as rare as latinum. Treasure them.” No reason to pretend he hasn’t remembered all the Rules Quark quoted over the years, now.

Quark is impressed. “Very good, Doctor. Can I get you anything?”

He’s technically no longer a licensed doctor, so the title pains him, but he tries not to show it. “I could go for a root beer.” He won’t be getting human beverages any time soon; might as well take the opportunity while he has a chance. “And I have to settle my tab.”

He takes a couple sand peas while Quark gets the drink and bill. Julian reads the tab – always a wise move – and presses his thumb to transfer credits.

“It has been a pleasure doing business with you. I hope you’ll come in next time you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” says Julian, with more honesty than he could’ve guessed.

From there he goes to the more difficult goodbyes in the infirmary. His former staff sends him off with regret. Strictly speaking, Starfleet doesn’t want him to explain why he’s leaving, but he chooses to confess to Jabara, who’s been with him since the beginning, and Dr. Girani, who deserves to know why he’s abandoning her to deal with Starfleet bureaucracy by herself. Both women, being Bajoran, couldn’t care less about his enhancements and wish him all the best.

Jabara mentions, with a perfectly straight face while handing over a fully stocked medkit he’s not supposed to have without a license to practice medicine, that they’ve suffered a few equipment losses lately. He suspects she’s worked something out with Kira to write off said ‘losses.’ He thanks all of his staff for the honor of working with them, and then goes to his quarters to stare at the ceiling until the transport is ready to depart.

The last he hears from Miles before leaving is a copy of one very pointed letter on the subject of Augments sent to both Earth Parliament and the Federation Council. The wording is all Keiko, but it’s signed by both her and Miles. It comes with a video of Yoshi dancing which is, Julian thinks, Miles’s way of telling him to keep using his powers for good.  

Kira and Ezri see him off. Ezri is a little teary-eyed, while Kira is still mad.

As for Julian, he’s not entirely faking his air of serenity. He’s known what he is since age fifteen. Now he knows what he isn’t, and that may be even more important. Was it worth giving up his career to find out? He’s not sure, but he is certain he has no regrets that Kira is alive, whatever the cost. Genetic resequencing doesn’t make him a monster. Allowing her to die would have.

“Some thanks for saving my life,” says Kira. She’s always been one to use anger as a shield to avoid hurt, so Julian is touched by her level of rage.

“I don’t need thanks,” he tells her. “Seeing you alive and well is enough.”

“You could’ve let me die and nobody would’ve ever known.”

He’s not sure how to handle a guilty Kira Nerys. “ _I_ would have known.”

“You could’ve gone on to save thousands of people, but you chose me.”

“And I’d do it again,” says Julian. “Despite what others would have you believe, I am still human, and I wasn’t willing to let you die if at all avoidable. Besides, I intend to save plenty of people on Cardassia.”

She’ll learn to live with his choice. It’s not a burden Julian would’ve wished on her, but the station and Bajor need Kira as much as Julian needs to know he doesn’t think his own life has more value by virtue of what he can accomplish that others cannot.

“It was my decision,” he reminds her. “Besides, this station would fall apart without you.”

“Julian, I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s alright,” he tells her, and he means it. Not having to make the choice – that will never be alright – but that, being forced to, he chose her life. “Truly.”

Kira clearly doesn’t think it is. She’s still seething over a Federation prejudice she’s only just learned existed, and maybe she’s blaming herself for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If so, he hopes Ezri will help her see this isn’t her fault.

Julian has his share of regrets. Saving Kira Nerys will never be one of them.  

Ezri hugs him and tells him very quietly, “Go find your _anbarad_ , Julian, and tell him he’d better make sure you get a Cardassian medical license.”

He barely stops himself from correcting that the singular is _anbaras._ Getting lost in Cardassian grammar would be easier than this goodbye. Instead, he swallows down a knot in his throat for all he’s lost and returns her hug. “At least someone is looking on the bright side.”

“Always,” says Ezri, but she still takes a long time to let him go.

Once the airlock door opens, Julian doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want Kira and Ezri to see that his serenity is less complete now, still real but tinged with grief for what he’s lost. They probably know anyway.

Over the hours the journey takes, he considers the possibility that this isn’t going to end well. He and Garak have exchanged a couple letters over the past ten weeks, but nothing to suggest showing up with all his worldly possessions is called for. For all he knows, an interspecies relationship could be the last thing Garak needs to complicate his life right now.

Regardless, Julian can’t do anything else but try. He’s still thinking of their entirely inadequate goodbyes, when they acknowledged that they belonged to separate worlds. However much they might care about each other – he’ll go so far as to say love each other - it isn’t in either of their natures to give up everything they’d worked for in pursuit of a romance for the ages.

Now, when everything has changed and his world no longer wants him, Julian is not willing to live with the regret he’d face for the rest of his life if he never asks whether Garak’s world might have a place for him.

It takes a bit of effort – and a few chocolate bars offered to minor bureaucrats, which Julian packed knowing treats are rare on Cardassia at the moment – to track down Garak’s residence based partly on his comm code and partly on his status as a rebellion leader. He lives in an apartment building on the eastern end of Cardassia City, a section of the capital where damage was lighter.

Julian takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. A moment later, he’s rewarded by a look of utter shock, which is a rare thing from Elim Garak. He doesn’t think he’s seen the man so astonished since he shot him.

“My dear doctor, this is a welcome surprise. Please, come in.”

He stays in the doorway, too anxious to take the time to enter. Besides, if this doesn’t go well, it’ll be easier to leave if he’s never been inside. “Not a doctor. Not anymore and not yet.” It’s enough for Garak to go on, no doubt, but somehow Julian needs to say the words. “The Federation doesn’t allow Augments to be doctors, you know.”

“Yes,” says Garak. “I suppose you stubbornly refused to hide your abilities because someone’s life was at stake.”

He nods. “So here I am. And I know you don’t like direct conversations, but my life has just fallen apart and I’m trying to pick up the pieces, so you’ll have to forgive my bluntness. We agreed we belonged to different worlds.”

“Yes,” says Garak cautiously.

“Well, mine doesn’t want me anymore. Can I start over here?”

Garak, naturally, avoids the question. “It will not be easy. Do come in.”

Julian doesn’t go inside, but decides to lay it all on the line, his heart racing as he risks another rejection. He knows Garak loves him. He also knows that isn’t enough, especially not by Cardassian standards. “I’m not asking if it will be easy. I’m asking if it will be possible. I’m asking if there’s a place on Cardassia for me, with you, or we still have insurmountable differences. Maybe we have no chance and this is my human sentiment again, but I have to know, because the only way I can have a life worth living is to leave the Federation, and from my perspective that’s removed the barrier to our relationship. So let me be perfectly clear: I’m asking if you want me, Elim.”

Garak just stares for a moment. Possibly he’s appalled by the directness, but then he looks over Julian’s shoulder, which clues Julian in to the fact that they have an audience of two very interested elderly Cardassian women.

He probably should’ve gone into the apartment.

“Excuse us,” Garak says in Cardassi, and pulls Julian inside while one of the women says quietly to the other, “How I wish I had a translator!” There’s a small saving grace, Julian thinks, suddenly grateful he elected to speak Standard.

“The entire building is going to be talking about this.” Garak shuts the door and glares at him sternly. “If you’re going to stay, you must show more discretion.”

“You mean?” That’s very promising, but for once in their relationship, Julian really needs to hear something unequivocally. He’s just been turned out by Starfleet and the Federation at large (someone will be keeping tabs on him, he’s sure), so it’s not unreasonable to want a little certainty in the midst of the wreckage his life has become.

The harshness leaves Garak’s face, replaced by an affectionate gaze. “Julian, my home is yours for as long as you care to share it. I’m afraid I have very little to offer you, but what I have, I give freely.”

He recognizes the second sentence as a romantic line from one of Preloc’s more tolerable works, and on the strength of it, relaxes. Garak wants him. For a man who’s just lost everything for which he’s ever worked, in this moment, Julian is remarkably happy. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Bring in your luggage before someone finds it tempting. I’m afraid theft is not as rare in this neighborhood as it once was.”

The women are still in the hallway. “I don’t know, I can’t tell most of the _Federaji_ races apart,” one is saying while Julian opens the door.

Somehow it had not occurred to him that his species would be a matter of question. Granted, going by looks alone he could be Betazoid, but not many venture out into the galaxy, so statistically speaking, assuming he’s human is a safe bet. (Garak would call this human arrogance, as though Cardassians aren’t prone to any arrogance of their own.) In any event, if these women are going to feed news of his arrival to the rumor mill, they may as well have the basic fact of his species straight. Julian gives them his best nonthreatening yet slightly enigmatic smile (which he learned from Garak, so it seems appropriate to deploy here) and says, “ _Terraji.”_

They’re still looking at him with surprise when he turns around and brings his bags inside.

“I brought the latinum from your quarters,” he tells Garak. “I left everything else except this, though I’m sure Ezri will send more from storage if you’d like.” He then unzips the smaller bag and hands over Ziyal’s painting. “I thought you’d want it.”

“I’m not concerned with anything else, but this I am pleased to have. We’ll put it in a place of honor.” The care with which Garak sets the artwork down demonstrates how much he values it.

“Speaking of Ezri, she says you’d better help me get a Cardassian medical license.”

“It’s not much of a threat without consequences,” says Garak, and trust him to quibble over something so insignificant. “Fortunately, I don’t require any additional incentive.”

Julian moves in closer and holds up his hand, interlacing their fingers in the intimate Cardassian fashion. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“We are short on doctors,” adds Garak, looking supremely pleased. “There are qualifying tests, but I’m sure you can pass them easily, with the right educational material. I’ll look into the specifics.” He pauses, then adds, “There is the matter of alien resident status.”

“Cardassians. Your whole planet is limping along after a devastating attack, and you’re still worried about bureaucracy.”

“Indeed,” says Garak with some pride. “We strive to maintain order even in the most trying of times. Though I must admit, your ability to find my address shows we’ve slipped.”

Julian ignores that. “So, how do I get alien resident status?”

“It’s a rather lengthy process.” There’s something he’s not saying, so Julian waits (another trick he learned from Garak) and thus get his explanation. “Considerably shortened by marrying a Cardassian citizen.”

Cardassians take marriage as seriously as they do everything else, maybe more so. Garak welcoming him was one thing, but this is Cardassia, where romance and marriage don’t necessarily go hand-in-hand. Speaking of matrimony is another matter entirely from their comfortable status quo as secret lovers on DS9, and Julian is more than a little stunned.

He’s also keenly aware that marrying a human isn’t likely to endear Garak to his neighbors.

“You would do that?”

“I would not have mentioned it if I wasn’t offering.”

Garak is guarded. Once Julian might have misinterpreted it as lack of enthusiasm, instead of self-protection. If Garak doesn’t seem particularly invested in the idea, he can more easily shrug off the decline he’s prepared himself for, which Julian has no intentions of giving.

Julian throws himself at the man. They drop their barriers and end up tumbling onto the bed in their _malon anbar_ , which is comfortingly the same as it was last time, before Garak left to join Damar’s rebellion.

By human standards, this could be the least romantic proposal of the decade. Julian knows better. Garak is willing to make one of his culture’s solemnest commitments, and more importantly to accept the not inconsiderable stigma and complications of an interspecies marriage on this xenophobic planet, because doing so is worth having Julian in his life. He’s making a personal sacrifice, and he has said, enough times and in enough circumstances that Julian knows he means it, there is no devotion without sacrifice.

“In that case,” Julian says, “I’m delighted to accept.”

Garak smiles, an honest, gentle expression so few people ever get to see. “Good. It will have the added benefit of allowing me to protect you from those who would seek to take advantage.”

That’s an alarming way to dim the mood. “Do you think I’m going to need much protection?”

“My dear, you are a human, on Cardassia, without any official status from the Federation. How could it be otherwise? I don’t mean to suggest I expect you’ll be assaulted in the streets, but that doesn’t mean everyone will treat you with respect. I told you it wouldn’t be easy.”

“You did.” Julian had known all along that Cardassia would be a challenging place for his new life.  

“Do you wish to reconsider?”

“No.” He shakes his head for emphasis, because he’s quite sure. “I’m not going to run scared. You wouldn’t have given me any reason to stay if you thought my life was in grave danger.”

Garak conveys approval with his gaze and the barest hint of a nod. “Once you demonstrate yourself to be a valuable member of the community, the risks will decrease considerably. I do insist, however, that you not dismiss my concerns as paranoia. This is a very different world than you’re used to, Julian. Let me guide you in it.”

“I will.”

“And remember, we respect strength in all forms, therefore, hiding your abilities will do you no favors here. Be stronger, faster, and smarter than anyone expects from a human. There is no shame in doing so, only strength.”

That will take a bit of getting used to, but Julian nods. “I can do that.”

“I have no doubt that you can make a life here. As I said, we are very short on doctors. So many were conscripted to military service and subsequently killed, not to mention those who perished in the Dominion bombardment. Provided you are willing to adapt, you will be able to thrive.”

“I’ll adapt. But I’ll always be human.”

“Of course.” says Garak. “It’s just as well, really.”

“Oh? Should I take that to mean you’re fond of me as I am?”

It’s a rhetorical question. He knows perfectly well that’s what Garak meant, and Garak is fully aware of the fact.

Garak takes Julian’s hands gently between his own.  “I was never so selfish as to hope for this.”

He’d known that when they parted ten weeks ago. Garak couldn’t have asked him to stay on Cardassia any more than Julian could ask him to return to DS9. Julian thinks he understands now why Garak thought Aragorn was cruelly selfish to ask Arwen to trade her immortality, her entire culture, for a short life with him.

“I know,” he replies. “There’s a saying on Earth: when one door closes, another opens.”

“Typical human optimism. Nevertheless, I’m glad you chose this particular door.”

“I’m glad it was an option.”

“Did you seriously doubt?” asks Garak. “I should think after all this time you ought to have known I would welcome you. Really, Julian. I let you get close enough that we became _anbarad_ , I adopted your soul-secret as my own and revealed mine to you, I treated you in every way as a man does the person he is courting. I was hardly subtle.”

Julian laughs at this perfectly true lie. “You were both the master of subtlety and so blatant a child could’ve spotted it. It’s only obvious if you clue the other person in on your cultural cues, you know.”

“It seemed reasonable to expect you to do some of the work, and don’t pretend you hadn’t figured it out.”

He had, but he’d also known it hadn’t mattered. “That was when we knew we would never have more than what we did,” he says. “You could act that way because we both knew life would take us in different directions.” Because it had been safe, he doesn’t add.

“That did not mean the gestures were without basis in my affections.”

“You gave me enough books where affections were subsumed by practical matters of duty.”

“And they were,” says Garak. “For both of us.”

It’s true, of course. “So, what? This is one of those Cardassian happily-ever-afters where affection and practicality nicely align?”

“Stranger things have happened.” Garak gives him a very contented grin, and he truly is delighted about the whole situation, which warms Julian enough that he starts to regain his optimism.

There is one point he needs to make clear. “For the record, if you have to sacrifice me for the good of the state, I expect to be given a chance for a proper goodbye.”

“You haven’t been paying attention. Firstly, family is nearly the equal of the state, and we are therefore loath to sacrifice family members if at all avoidable.”

“You never seemed worried about family.” Julian is aware that family is important in Cardassian philosophy, but never got the impression it held much significance in Garak’s.

“Because I didn’t have one,” replies Garak evenly, without any trace of regret in his tone but the slightest bit of old hurt lingering in his eyes. “Moreover, I have no likelihood of being in a position where the sacrifice of your life would be required.”

Julian understands what he doesn’t say: that Garak let himself grow attached, and after a life full of sacrifice for the state, he’s not inclined to give up the husband he never expected to have. They both know he would if he had to – Julian is no longer that naïve – but he also knows Garak doesn’t want to be in a situation which might call for it, and that’s enough. If Garak doesn’t want to do something, it’s nigh impossible to get him to follow through.

The old Cardassia is dead. It’s not unreasonable to think that even Elim Garak might change with his world and find one sacrifice he’d rather not make. And if it somehow comes down to Julian’s life or everyone else on Cardassia, he’s not going to trade himself for billions anyway. He’d just like some agency in the matter, thank you very much.

Apparently Garak is in the mood for what passes as full disclosure, because he adds, “I am a simple tailor. Nobody would consider me a favorable match for a doctor.”

“Elim,” says Julian in a sincere tone belied by a grin, “you may be a tailor, but you’re by no means a simple one.”

“I am an uncommonly well-read tailor,” agrees Garak. “And I suppose I must count myself fortunate that you bring your Federation views on class equality to this relationship.”

“If we’re being honest, I’d rather you be a tailor than an Obsidian Order agent. I hear their fatality rates are atrocious.”

“Were,” corrects Garak. “The Obsidian Order is dead.”

“We both know you could resurrect it.”

“If I wanted to, yes.”

Apparently engagement gets a man new levels of personal truth these days, Julian muses.

Garak says, “I have a different goal in mind.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Politics. The people have demanded a greater say in governance after our disastrous experience with dictatorship, or hadn’t you heard?”

“I don’t think it’s made the Federation News Service yet.”

“Wonders never cease.”

This could be a problem. Oh, it’s very good for Julian, who does not at all want to marry the new head of the Obsidian Order, but… “Won’t a human husband be a scandalous hinderance?”

“It hardly matters. I’m not going to win any elections.”

“You aren’t?”

“Of course not.”

“But you played a key role in the rebellion.”

“Yes. I also have a serving-class name. The record of my existence is minimal, which suggests membership in the Obsidian Order, not exactly popular by any account. I spent nearly eight years in exile. No, I will never win an election, my dear. Cardassia has not changed that much.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because it will allow me to make the other candidates address issues they would prefer not to, discussions we must hold if we are to avoid repeating past disasters. I will be the vole in the wall that forces them to repair their wiring.”

“If you’re wrong, and I’m the last straw…” Julian doesn’t want to interfere with Garak helping shepherd Cardassia to a better future.

“I sincerely doubt it, but that is a risk I am willing to take.”

That’s as sweeping a declaration of love as Julian’s ever heard, and he kisses Garak’s left eyeridge in response. It’s not an erogenous zone, so the gesture is all about intimacy and affection.

If Garak proclaimed his eternal contentment in tailoring, Julian would suspect a lie. Politics he can believe, even in this pessimistic form. Especially in this pessimistic form, actually. He does, in fact, think this is a personal truth (Garak’s neck ridges haven’t moved a millimeter, for one thing) and he can accept being a tailor and political agitator’s husband. Politics aren’t his first choice, but it’s far better than having a husband who disappears on secret missions all the time and has dozens of enemies actively trying to kill both of them.

“This limited democracy is new to us, and it must be managed with care lest it be overrun by personal ambition.”

“So you’re going to influence it by running a campaign you can never win, thus allowing you to say what the others won’t.”

“Someone has to, if we want to thrive. It’s fortunate I studied Federation politics and have some understanding of democracy. We are adapting it to our needs, of course, but it’s all very new.” He pauses, then adds, “Cardassia will not be what it was.”

Julian doesn’t try to offer reassurance. He learned that lesson last time. Garak has every right to be bitter about the choices Cardassia’s former leaders made which resulted in so much devastation. Fully a sixth of the population was killed in the Dominion’s attempted genocide, and it’s only due to incredible strength and Cardassian love of order that the whole planet hasn’t fallen into anarchy.

In many ways, Garak can never return home again. Julian understands now that he can’t say anything to make it better, so he doesn’t try. And he would never dream of comparing his own private loss to Cardassia’s, but the experience has given him some insight as to why he never should’ve tried to offer up hope when he did.

He does have to say something, though. “The sooner you help me get a medical license, the sooner I can get to work helping people.”

Garak nods, so it was more or less the right thing to say. “Yes, the reconstruction crews are injured in unstable rubble daily. I think you’ll find few unwilling to be attended by a human doctor.”

They lie there in companionable silence for a few moments, touching each other gently just for the simple pleasure, in their own pocket of the multiverse, which they never have figured out by any scientific reasoning. (Julian couldn’t muster enthusiasm to work with another scientist on the project even if their _malon anbar_ was suddenly open knowledge. This was his and Jadzia’s, and he’s stubborn enough to think he’ll solve its mysteries alone or not at all. He may still have some grieving to do.) This isn’t where either of them wanted to be in life, but they aren’t alone, and they’re a good couple, happy together in their unconventional way. Perhaps a touch dysfunctional from time to time, but who with their baggage isn’t? He does love Garak, and he’s certain Garak loves him. Very differently so, to be sure, and most humans wouldn’t be content with Garak’s kind of love. But then, if Julian were like most humans, he wouldn’t be on Cardassia now.

All things considered, there are worse ways his life could’ve turned out once the genetic resequencing came to light. Julian is aware he’s going to have to deal with everything he’s lost at some point, but right now, he’s going to focus on what he’s gained, which is by no means inconsiderable.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually make up my own Cardassi, but I like the -aji suffix for other species so much I used it here. Unfortunately I don't know to whom I should give credit. 
> 
> More to come! Because of course I couldn't bring up the idea of a Cardassian green card marriage without exploring how one goes about such a thing.


	4. The Rewards of Sentiment

Garak is still amazed by how much trust Julian places in him.

The man has simply accepted that Garak isn’t interested in reviving the Obsidian Order. Unless – and here is an alarming thought – Julian has learned to tell when Garak is offering a lie of such magnitude versus when he’s being honest. He’d like to think such a thing is impossible, but he’s not certain he believes it anymore.

Like his world, Garak isn’t what he used to be. He, however, has had time to make a grudging peace with the fact. Moreover, with Julian’s unexpected reappearance in his life, he can admit that sentiment isn’t without its rewards.

A certain interim minister, one never to be trusted because he held a minor role on Dukat’s staff and wants only to remake the old Cardassia, approached Garak about rebuilding an intelligence service just a few days ago, and Garak very politely declined. Others can remake an intelligence service if they so choose; Garak sees a different role for himself. To borrow a medical metaphor, which seems fitting as he’s betrothed to a doctor, the only way for Cardassia to heal and be strong once more is to excise the diseased portions. Garak intends to force the process.

A political career has never been a possibility he’d considered, for any number of reasons, and now Garak has concluded it is the best way he can serve Cardassia. It is a new world indeed.

Admittedly, a human husband will pose a complication, if a very worthwhile one. Marrying Julian will give Garak’s detractors – traditionalists all - a large point against him, without a doubt. They won’t lack for material to begin with, and Garak has no illusions that he will ever win election. His role in the rebellion will carry him far enough for his purposes, and he can always point to his marriage as a willingness to refute the old social norms which proved to be Cardassia’s downfall.

Julian is worth every difficulty. Garak thinks he can also use Julian’s status as an outcast in the Federation to ease his acceptance on Cardassia, though he concedes he ought to secure permission first.

They spend much of their first evening in the _malon anbar_ , in part because Julian isn’t good at being quiet during sex and the soundproofing in Garak’s very old building (it had been scheduled for condemnation until the Dominion destroyed so many others) is notoriously bad. So bad, in fact, that if they continue to reserve sexual activities for the _malon anbar_ , the downstairs neighbors are liable to get the impression he and Julian are celibate altogether. He’d say Julian will have to learn to be a bit less vocal, but in truth he finds the sounds his _anbaras_ makes during their intimate moments very appealing.

The apartment is better than emergency tents, at least. Being a hero of the rebellion has its perks, chief among which is his apartment.

When they’ve exhausted themselves, Julian says, “It was my decision to reveal myself, in the end. And it was the right choice, no matter the consequences. I always swore I’d never let anyone die to protect my secret.”

“How very human of you.”

“Precisely. As Miles said, I proved I’m no Khan, willing to stand by while others die because I think I’m so much better.”

Ah, so O’Brien did not end their friendship over the augmentations. For Julian’s sake, Garak is glad. “Yes, the fearsome Khan, terror of the galaxy as opposed to a single example of megalomania. And the Federation claims Cardassians are paranoid. That is one thing you will not have to worry about here.”

“Good,” replies Julian. “That means the life I’ll build here can’t be taken away so easily.”

He falls asleep soon after that bold statement. Garak does not. He turns over the evening’s events in his mind, considering all possible angles, ways he might help integrate Julian into Cardassian society, and potential difficulties ranging from the probable to the very unlikely.

He is not overly concerned for Julian’s physical safety. If he had been, he would have sent him away for his own good. He is, however, under no illusions: many people will happily take advantage of Julian, seeing him as an easy mark (which in some ways he will be, through no fault of his own). Others will treat him poorly, and yes, those same people will think less of Garak for marrying an alien.

That is a sacrifice Garak will gladly make. Julian came to him, and despite the numerous difficulties facing a human on Cardassia, still wants to be Garak’s husband. Even removing the Federation from his options, he could do so much better than a broken world known for its xenophobia and human-unfriendly climate, but here he is, intending to remain and make a life for himself. With Garak.

Julian came to him, and while Garak was never selfish enough to hope for this – he was resigned to exchanging letters until Julian moved on with his life and the messages stopped altogether – he finds himself experiencing that unfamiliar emotion, happiness.

Still, there are numerous practical concerns to consider, and he’s never been one to let his feelings override common sense. A careful balance must be struck. Garak will make clear in no uncertain terms that Julian is not to be abused, and his fame will serve well here. However, Julian must earn respect on his own. Garak will protect this man with everything he has and is, but he cannot force anyone to offer esteem which has not been freely given.

He doesn’t let himself fall asleep until he has developed satisfactory plans, which takes quite some time. Therefore, when he wakes, Julian is already alert and looking at him.

“I’m glad you’re up,” Julian says. “I’m hungry.”

With that, they return to their primary universe, where Garak does not have much by way of foodstuffs. “You won’t be able to get food and energy allocations immediately.”

“I brought plenty of ration bars. How do I get those allocations?”

“As you are neither a citizen nor legal resident, you will have to earn them through useful contributions. First, we must begin the marriage application process. That will lend you legitimacy, which will then give you standing to demonstrate your value to the community.”

“Most of the city is a disaster zone and I still need legitimacy? The Cardassian love of order knows no bounds.”

“It’s eminently reasonable,” says Garak. Without order, they have nothing left. They would cease to be Cardassians at all.

“I’m sure it is,” replies Julian in a tone which suggests the exact opposite. “If you’re more concerned with guarding the secrets of your physiology than saving lives, the Cardassian approach makes perfect sense.”

That is not the primary consideration, but Garak opts to remark, “Ah, so you do understand.”

After breakfast they begin the walk to file the marriage application request. For Julian’s sake, it’s best to go earlier in the day, before the sun rises and the temperature with it.

Garak is already planning to acquire a cooling unit for the summer, one with an independent power source which won’t use up the limited energy allotment. Summer will be difficult for Julian, but they can take measures to make it bearable.

Julian attracts many interested gazes, and Garak wastes no time in implementing his strategies to make clear that anyone who threatens Julian will answer to him. They’ve no sooner left the building than Garak loops his right arm through Julian’s left and locks their elbows together, leaving no question whatsoever as to their relationship and drawing a great deal of interest indeed.

Julian gives him a smile and switches to Cardassi. They have agreed that they might continue to speak Standard at home as they please (Garak has no objections to keeping his language skills sharp, and suspects Julian would appreciate keeping something of his culture) but otherwise, Julian will use Cardassi exclusively. “Staking your claim?”

“Something like that.”

Cardassians are, as a species, strongly inclined toward the possessive, doubly so for males. Garak is disciplined enough that he never allowed himself to think of Julian in those terms until Julian said, with the directness for which his race is noted, “I’m asking if you want me, Elim.” (In the corridor, of all places. Why he didn’t see the need for the relative privacy of the apartment, Garak cannot imagine.)

At that moment, all Garak’s long-denied possessive feelings surged forth. Julian is now and will henceforth be _his_. And what a Cardassian considers his he protects fiercely; Garak will not permit anyone to cause his future husband (a phrase which he never expected to so much as think) to come to harm.

Whatever the xenophobes will say, Garak is proud that Julian wants to be his, and is happy to show the man off as such.

He likes the idea of being Julian’s, as well. In his own way, Julian is no less inclined to protect. He does this through caretaking. Garak had never permitted anyone to take care of him before, as it necessarily involves more vulnerability than he is wont to allow. Julian simply refused to take no for an answer, and somewhere along the way, Garak stopped making it overly difficult.

“You must tell me the limits of your body in this climate,” says Garak. It’s a lovely late spring morning and he is quite enjoying the weather.

“This isn’t too bad,” replies Julian. “Not comfortable, but I’ll get used to it, and it’s not dangerous.”

“You’re already sweating.” He doesn’t think it will be long before Julian’s superior hearing catches someone remarking that perspiration is repulsive. Garak found it so, at first. Now he is quite used to it, the same as Julian is accustomed to the occasional shed scale.

“That’s why I brought plenty of water. I’m just glad Cardassia City is in a temperate zone. I can’t say I’m looking forward to summer, though.”

Garak had been, until Julian arrived. Now he thinks spring and autumn will be the best seasons for them. Undoubtedly Julian will enjoy winter, which means that time of year will be good for something.

It’s just short of a three-kilometer walk to the nearest Office of Records. By the time they arrive Julian appears to be melting, though he makes no complaints. Garak prioritizes acquiring fabric which breathes better, as such is obviously required for Julian’s health.

There’s only one clerk present. The others are probably on work crew shifts. “Can I help you?” she asks.

“An application for marriage, please,” says Garak.

Her eyeridges fly up, but she recovers her composure quickly and hands them each a tablet. “Here you are, application for interspecies marriage. Part One is for the Cardassian party. Part Two is for the non-Cardassian party. Provide alien names in the original language and the best Cardassia approximation. Provide dates in alien format and converted to Cardassian normal datekeeping.”

Julian is already flipping through the pages. “I have no idea how to write my mother’s name in Cardassi. Father’s occupation, going to need more space there. Can I say I’m a doctor if I don’t have a Cardassian medical license yet? My last supervisor or commander was taken to another plane of existence by noncorporeal beings, so he’s not available to give a reference. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

The clerk is clearly impressed with his reading comprehension and yet hasn’t a clue what to make of him. All things considered, Garak can’t blame her. When excited, Julian is truly a force of nature.

That he is so excited to marry Garak remains one of the great mysteries of the multiverse, but Garak is delighted to embrace it.

He frequently has to pause his own work to help Julian write Terran names in Cardassi. Diligently filling out the form won’t do any good if nobody can read the answers, and handwriting is where Julian’s Cardassi is weakest. He’s practiced it the least, no doubt because the Federation doesn’t care about handwriting to any degree.

He also wants to make sure Julian doesn’t write anything foolish. After his parents left the station, Julian overindulged in real liquor and proceeded to have a semi-coherent conversation about his enhancements. Garak learned the physical augmentations were not done at the Bashirs’ request, and evidently Julian decided the best way to deal with discovering he was a ‘lab rat’ was to get very drunk. They haven’t talked about the genetic resequencing in any detail since, though Garak knows Julian considers it an integral part of his identity.

Secrets always are.

In any event, that evening Julian called Adigeon Prime “the place where I was born,” and Garak, out of an abundance of caution, makes sure he doesn’t provide that answer on the application. The resequencing is not problematic on Cardassia, but he was not born during the procedure, and accuracy on official forms matters a great deal.

Fortunately, he lists a hospital on Earth and then asks Garak to refine his Cardassi transliteration of ‘England.’

Garak writes ‘unknown’ in reference to his own father. That is true, as far as state records are concerned, and he is content with it. Julian pointedly peers over to read what answers he has provided for his mother, and doesn’t look at all surprised to find Mila listed.

She would have liked Julian as a son-in-law. Grief is not a luxury Cardassians can afford, at present, but Garak allows himself a small moment of it, thinking of how very pleased Mila would have been about their marriage.

“My section is five times longer than yours,” says Julian.

“Only five? I expected at least seven.”

Traditional xenophobia notwithstanding, Garak is not the first Cardassian wishing to marry an alien. Therefore, a proper bureaucratic procedure has been established. Julian must prove himself worthy, and that involves offering a great deal of information.

“Peer references? Miles is going to love this, I’d better let him know to expect an inquiry. And that we’re getting married, of course. Length of time reference two has known me, a complicated question. How do I write _Trillaji_ so I can explain?”

Julian has gone from excited chatter to nervous. Garak really isn’t worried that their application will be denied. He himself has some stature, and in Sisko’s absence Colonel Kira will be Julian’s commander reference. Her name is known on Cardassia at present and spoken with more respect than the provisional government would prefer, so her recommendation will be given weight. More, in fact, than Sisko’s would have been.

Furthermore, Julian has a great deal to offer Cardassia. Still, the formalities must be recognized, and there is the matter of Julian having deceived his own state about his augmentations. That will take careful handling at their interviews.

“Please tell me no one is going to interview my parents,” says Julian when the clerk moves far enough away that she won’t overhear.

“Why bother? They would be incredibly biased in your favor, so there’s no point.”

“Thank God for small mercies.” The phrase sounds very strange in Cardassi.

When at last the application forms are complete (if on Julian’s part answered with more sentimentality than Garak would have suggested) the clerk gives Julian a new program on his tablet which contains two language tests, one written and one oral. Garak is not permitted to help, and Julian is checked for a translator in addition to certifying that he has received no aid from any person or technology.

“You did splendidly, my dear,” Garak says when Julian turns in the exams. When he began teaching Julian his language, he never though it would serve them so well, and at no point did he ever imagine the skill would be used for this.

Indeed, the clerk is more than satisfied. “This is a very favorable score.”

“I had a good teacher,” says Julian.

“You will be contacted to arrange the interviews,” says the clerk. “There is nothing further required at present.”

It’s a dismissal, so Garak leads Julian out the door. “That went well,” he says.

“How long do you think before we’ll hear anything?”

“I don’t know. Even our love of order and efficiency is being sorely tested at present.”

By the time they return to the apartment, Julian collapses on the shabby couch (besides a single-person mattress, the only furniture Garak owns, and that something of a luxury; the bed in the _malon anbar_ is quite useful). Garak looks on in concern.

“I promise I’m not in danger of needing medical intervention,” Julian says in Standard.

“I’m sure I’ve heard a Federation expression that doctors make the worst patients.”

“Human, not Federation, and I’ll acclimate. Honestly. Though I might need to ask Miles or Ezri to send more electrolytes for the summer. There’s a cooling unit in my bag. No, the other bag.”

Garak opens the piece of luggage in question and refrains from commenting on Kukalaka. The toy’s presence is no surprise whatsoever, though he’s given up all hope of understanding Julian’s attachment to it. He pulls out the cooling device, for which Julian brought two extra solar batteries they can easily charge by the window, and inspects it. They’ll need a more powerful unit during the height of summer. This one will do for now, and he sets it up facing Julian.

“I have two hours before I have to report to my work crew,” he says while his _anbaras_ sighs in relief.

“How often is that?”

“Five half-days out of nine. Mine works afternoons. Medical personnel are, of course, exempt from the requirement, as they are sorely needed full-time.” This is fortunate, because Garak does not think even Julian’s augmented physiology could handle physical labor for any length of time. In winter, perhaps. It hardly matters; he is of far more use elsewhere.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing, at present.”

Julian frowns. He’s not going to accept this as an answer for more than a day or two. “Just think, your arrival has given the neighborhood something new and interesting to discuss,” offers Garak.

“Wonderful. My first contribution is fueling the gossip mill.”

He wastes no time on his second. When Garak returns from his shift clearing rubble, Julian is not in the apartment, but scrawled a note on one of his Federation padds: _At the Rantors’ across the hall._

That makes a great deal of sense. Young Onela Rantor screams in pain on occasion, and it would be just like Julian to rush in hoping to help.

Garak presses the door chime and is ushered in by Onela’s aunt. He is not well acquainted with the woman, though he’s on friendly enough terms with her father, Onela’s grandfather. “I imagine you’re looking for Bashir,” she says.

“Yes.”

She eyes him in a way which indicates Julian’s arrival and relationship with Garak has been of as much interest to the community as expected. “Come in. I believe they’re almost finished.”

It is immediately apparent even to Garak’s untrained eyes that Julian is working with Onela on physical therapy for her horribly damaged arm and shoulder, and thus he has already made an excellent start on earning respect from the community and showing just how much he can contribute.

“Two more, Onela. You can do it,” Julian says. “One. Good! Just one more time now.”

The girl lifts her arm very slightly, grimacing the entire time, but she evidently completes what Julian requested.

“Excellent! You’ve done so well, and you should be very proud of yourself.”

“I should?” she asks.

“Oh, yes. You could take the easy way and do nothing, but you want to be able to use your arm again, so you’re doing the hard work.”

That is not exactly a Cardassian perspective, but her grandfather nods in approval anyway. Rantor has been distressed over his inability to help Onela, and is obviously grateful she’s receiving professional attention even if it comes with a slightly peculiar human idea.

Julian addresses the elder Cardassian. “With your permission, I’ll come back tomorrow and start teaching you how to give her the therapeutic massage. Doing it daily should reduce her pain considerably.”

“Permission? Doctor, I am greatly in your debt.”

“I’m happy to help,” says Julian. “The physical therapy is going to be a long-term project, months at the least. I can show you how to guide her, but I’ll still want to check in regularly to assess her progress.”

Rantor dips his head in gratitude. “I thank you sincerely.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Onela,” Julian says.

“Good evening, Doctor,” she replies, with as much respect for an elder as she would have given any Cardassian.

Her aunt pulls Julian aside. “Will she regain full use of her arm?”

“I’m afraid that’s unlikely at this point,” says Julian gently. “She’d need immediate surgery and intensive follow-up care to have any chance.”

“She’s on a waitlist for follow-up,” says Rantor. “Not a critical case, we’re told.”

Julian is predictably appalled. The fact of the matter is that Cardassia City doesn’t have half enough medical staff, and those few are too busy saving lives to prioritize full use of a limb. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I think the best case scenario is getting back roughly 85% range of motion and strength in that arm.”

“And the worst case?” asks Rantor.

“With the massages and exercises, 65% range of motion, 70% strength.”

It clearly comes as a surprise to Julian when the girl’s guardians are delighted. “But Doctor, she can hardly move the arm at all now. Even your worst anticipated outcome is such an improvement!”

“I’ll do everything I can.”

“Thank you.”

Julian picks up his medical kit and follows Garak out the door, promising to return at the same time tomorrow. “I was walking around the building when they returned and the poor girl was in agony. Not a priority! They don’t have enough doctors to give that girl’s arm a fighting chance and you’re sure the hospital won’t let me help yet?”

“Without official Federation approval or licensing of some kind attesting to your suitability, I’m afraid it’s unlikely.” They couldn’t allow any well-meaning stranger to wander in and start performing surgeries, Julian’s expertise notwithstanding.

“But not impossible.”

“Not quite, no.”

“Then where’s the hospital?”

“We will go in the morning,” Garak says.

“Now would be better.”

“No, it would not. You have to inform your friends that they will be questioned about you, and it will take me some time to get the letters through the communications network. Don’t even think about video letters.”

Julian isn’t happy, but he accepts this necessity. After another meal of ration bars (Cardassian for Garak, Starfleet for Julian), he sits on the couch and says in Cardassi, “Computer, begin recording.”

“Computer, cancel. My dear, this is a very old unit. It cannot take dictation in Standard. Nor can it accept Standard input. You will either have to handwrite the entire message, or record it on your padd. I believe I can transfer the file successfully from the padd, though I’m not positive.”

“So that’s why you wrote me in Cardassi.”

“Yes.” Garak pauses for a moment to consider his next words carefully. “Your friends need not lie about your genetic resequencing. But they ought to mention it as little as possible.”

Julian looks up in dismay. “Why? You said that won’t be a problem here.”

“It is not. The matter of deceiving your state, however, must be handled with great delicacy. Without intending disrespect, that is not a trait for which Colonel Kira or Chief O’Brien are known.”

“How big a problem is this going to be?” asks Julian, not doing a very good job of hiding his distress.

“Not insurmountable. I have enough celebrity to be given leeway, and Colonel Kira is appreciated for her role in the rebellion. It’s still wise to downplay exactly the extent to which you maintained an elaborate lie.”

Julian frowns. “So we’re going to deceive the Cardassian state about how much I deceived the Federation?”

“I would not put it that way. We are going to emphasize that your state has effectively exiled you.”

“I wasn’t exiled. Starfleet is keeping the whole thing quiet, in fact. I resigned, they revoked my medical license, but I can still go anywhere in the Federation freely. Well, I’m sure my identity file has been flagged. That’s not the same, though.”

“Effectively exiled, then,” concludes Garak. Just as he suspected, and he is truly sorry. He would never have wished that on Julian. “It suits our purposes.”

“Do tell.”

Garak has an excellent strategy in mind. He doubts Julian will like it. “We are at present more reliant on Federation goodwill than we would prefer.”

“There are less than two hundred aid workers on the whole planet. I was starting to wonder if I was being incredibly selfish to stay away because I thought we needed a clean break.”

Interesting. “You are many things, but you are not selfish. I imagine you had a plan to help a great number of people.”

“I’d put in for a temporary assignment on one of the outer Betazoid colonies. They need non-telepaths who won’t be psychically overwhelmed by the suffering.”

As he thought. “You see, not selfish at all.”

“You were explaining why my effective exile is helpful.”

“Personnel may not be as numerous as you believe they ought, but we did not expect anyone or anything from the Federation. We recently received a shipment of twenty million doses of anti-radiation treatment for those who survived in the immediate surroundings of Lakarian City. They would have died horribly unpleasant deaths otherwise.”

“I’m glad to hear about the treatments, but what does that have to do with me hiding my augmentations?”

“We do not like to be in the inferior position. If the Federation is so very foolish as to deprive itself of a valuable citizen…”

Julian finishes, “Cardassians can feel smugly superior about themselves for being more open-minded than the Federation which claims to value the trait so highly.”

“Precisely.” It is a neat, elegant approach to the problem.

“I don’t want to damage the Federation’s reputation.”

Garak could almost laugh, if he wasn’t mindful not to hurt Julian’s feelings. “The Federation’s reputation is the least of our concerns, and quite out of your control. Besides, this is the unfortunate truth, not slander.”

“You’re going to make an excellent politician,” says Julian, resigning himself to Garak’s plan.

“Thank you.” He allows his pleasure in the remark to be clear in his expression. He does not expect he will ever fully embrace unfettered truth in all things, but the reason he has guarded his personal truths so closely has always been self-protection, the reduction of vulnerability. That is less necessary now, at least with Julian.

Still, it won’t do to give any false impressions. “Have I ever told you about the time a Romulan senator took my advice for her political campaign?”

Julian laughs. “This ought to be good. I suppose it’s only fair to warn you that I can nearly always tell when you lie. The bigger the lie, the easier it is to spot.”

As he thought, and it’s only mildly worrisome at this point. “It really isn’t a good idea to share your conversational advantages so openly.”

“I’m trying to tell you I understand, Elim. You’ve spent your whole life lying to protect yourself, and you let me in, but you’re never going to be an open book. It’s hard for you to be so honest, you’re trying for me, and sometimes you lie when you know I know just for fun. It’s fine.”

Well. He understands indeed. “What happened to the utterly oblivious young man I first befriended on the station?”

“I’m still oblivious sometimes. I’ll be worse here, at least for a while. But I know you.”

He truly does, and with anyone else Garak would be gravely concerned, but not with Julian. “It’s just as well, I suppose. However fond I was of that young man, I could not have built a life with him.”

Julian leans over for a kiss. Garak does not find the practice erotic, which was a disappointment to Julian years ago (no less than Garak’s regret that Julian’s shoulders aren’t an erogenous zone), but he concedes it is pleasant enough as a means of expressing affection. “He couldn’t have built a life with a mysterious tailor who didn’t even admit to having personal truth, either. Now, I’m going to dictate these letters, and then I want to hear about your political adventures on Romulus.”

Garak starts thinking up a suitably entertaining tale while investigating the current state of the communications network. It won’t do for Julian’s letters to be held up for days.

“Hello Miles. As requested, I’m including my address in Standard and Cardassi. You can expect to hear from a Cardassian immigration official about me…”


	5. Containing Multitudes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab note: _ik'ran_ is my word for the Cardassi equivalent of a paragraph, as introduced in "Points of No Return."

The hospital is so understaffed that the director accepts Julian’s offer to volunteer his services in any capacity she cares to take. He’s assigned only the most basic of cases, he reports (his exact words are “duties any second-year medical student could perform in their sleep”) but considers it a great improvement over doing nothing (“I can wield a dermal regenerator with the best of them.”) After two days, he finds himself with a full-time workweek, seven days out of nine, and this is excellent progress towards his integration.

Eight days after Julian’s arrival, Garak returns home from his rubble-clearing shift to find his _anbaras_ once again sipping water in front of the cooling unit. (They are fortunate; this district of the city still has potable water in adequate if not generous supply.) “I’m slightly less exhausted by the heat than I was the first day,” Julian says.

Based on the scene in front of him, Garak is unconvinced. “Are you sure this isn’t your optimism at work again?”

“I said slightly.”

He resolves to redouble his efforts to find a more powerful cooling unit. Meanwhile, his computer is blinking, indicative of a message. The contents are promising. “We have an interview at the Central Immigration Office four days from now.” It’s far sooner than Garak expected.

“Already?”

“Your friends must have spoken very highly of you.” They move to the _malon anbar_ with its subjective temperature, which is always agreeable for both of them.

Julian smiles sadly. “They’re good people. I never expected to have anyone stand by me.”

“Not least your Federation friends.” Kira, as a Bajoran, was never likely to care about the augmentations. That O’Brien and Dax have remained steadfastly loyal despite living in a society which condemns Julian has raised both considerably in Garak’s esteem.

“Yes. I’m determined to stay in touch. I don’t want to let them slip out of my life altogether.”

“I can be convinced to take the occasional trip outside Cardassian space,” says Garak. Only to make Julian happy, of course. He is aware that a successful marriage requires compromise.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

After a few minutes of silence, during which Julian begins to re-energize in what he experiences as the coolness of the _malon anbar_ , he says, “We can research this phenomenon more thoroughly now.”

He remains as reckless as ever. Garak shakes his head. “That would be unwise. Need I remind you that I am beginning to organize a political campaign?” In fact, he’s already attracted two volunteers, young people not bothered by his intention to marry a human.

Undeterred, Julian says, “Yes, but if a human doctor happens to hear about this interesting concept in old legends and subsequently develops an interest in the idea, it would be another _Federaji_ idiosyncrasy, don’t you think?”

He’s not entirely wrong, and there will be no stopping him, Garak knows. Better to work with him and make sure he does nothing disastrous. “We will have to plan your research very carefully. I cannot be seen to have any involvement.”

If the Order archives hadn’t been entirely destroyed, he might have found more details there. That option is closed to him, and he believes it is for the best that no one else can misuse the Order’s decades of meticulously gathered information.

Delighted with his triumph, Julian grins. “I want to know everything.”

“You always do, my dear. Enthusiasm is one of your charms.”

* * *

 

Marriage will entitle Julian to alien resident status, which is why it used to be so carefully guarded when other species were involved. Garak supposes Cardassian residence is not especially sought after at present. 

He plans out their approach to the appointment with care. It involves, of all things, a great deal of truth. (Julian approves.) They arrive early and commence to review several years’ worth of literature discussions in a lively debate worthy of an established couple still enamored of each other.

It is frighteningly honest.

“I still think you can make a fair comparison between Iloja and Whitman,” says Julian.

Garak doesn’t have to fake his grimace. “My dear, are you quite certain you read Iloja? It could have been a mislabeled file.”

“You know perfectly well I read it in Cardassi from your own file.” Which he had, in fact, done, if not the first time he read Iloja.

“And yet you did not understand in the least. Whitman was crass and overt. Remarkably so, in fact.”

“For his time, but then, so was Iloja, by Cardassian standards.”

Yes, well, Iloja was exiled for exalting the self too highly over the state. He’d overestimated what his fame would allow him to get away with and paid dearly for the error. But Garak still finds the comparison painful. “Subtlety was entirely lost on Whitman. Iloja did not suffer from that failing.” He adds a knowing look, since Iloja’s work contains hidden references to _malon anbar_ which are very subtle indeed.

He wonders if the government might admit Iloja did not die young but was rather exiled, then notes that he ought to remind Julian the fact isn’t to be mentioned in company. 

Julian, meanwhile, has started quoting Whitman in his best Cardassi approximation of the original. “‘There was never any more inception than there is now, nor any more youth or age than there is now, and will never be any more perfection than there is now, nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.’”

“I don’t understand how you expect me to appreciate a man who repeated himself so much. It’s a dreadful failing in a poet.”

Julian, undeterred by this excellent point, goes on, “That was Whitman. Now Iloja: ‘All the dead forefathers and yet-to-be fade away, the present being my only concern. This moment, now, is all I can rely upon.’”

“A superficial similarity of theme here and there does not make equivalency,” says Garak, relieved the quoted poem is one of Iloja’s pre-exile works and will thus raise no suspicion.

“Really? I seem to recall you attempting to create equivalency between _Beowulf_ and _Kantra’Don_ to proclaim the former inferior, despite evidence being thin to the point of nonexistence.”

“Beowulf was a poor leader if his men abandoned him in the face of danger.” Personally, Garak thinks the story ought to have ended with their execution for cowardice. It would prevent recurrences of this defect; if one is going to die by fleeing, one has nothing to lose by taking a stand. Of course, such measures are only required if the soldiers are not properly committed to their duty in the first place.

Julian, naturally, disagreed with that assessment when Garak offered it four years ago, and repeats his objection now. “Just because you wanted it to be a cautionary tale about not abandoning your post doesn’t mean it is one.”

Before Garak can remark on the human fasciation with dragons (he has accumulated more examples since they read _Beowulf_ ), Julian says, “Back to Whitman. That poem has a short stanza which I’ve always felt captures you perfectly.”

“I’ll brace myself for the insult.”

“‘Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself. (I am large, I contain multitudes.)’” He recites the lines quietly, almost reverently, and Garak cannot find a single argument. He may not even be trying very hard. This man, this charming, impossible, delightful man, is looking at him with that overt human adoration so brazenly written all over his face, and there is no objecting to it whatsoever.

Still, Garak has standards. “Can we return to _Beowulf_? I find the human fixation on dragons very odd. Were your ancestors all so frightened of imaginary creatures?”

Julian laughs. He knows perfectly well Garak appreciates his last point, and he’s eminently pleased with himself. “Oh, yes. Very much so.”

They’re soon called in to speak with two immigration administrators, an older man and a young woman. “I am Pa’Met,” says the man. “This is Torsad,” he indicates the woman. “Your application, language exams, and recommendations are all in order, so we may commence the interview. Bashir, come with me.”

“Garak, you’ll speak with me,” says Torsad.

He answers standard questions about when he met Julian (his status as a hero of the rebellion preempts any unpleasant inquiries as to why he was on the station formerly known as Terok Nor), how long they have been intimately involved, and what Julian can contribute to Cardassia. It’s a very short interview, after which Torsad leaves the room to consult with Pa’Met. As though there is any doubt that Garak’s responses will match Julian’s.

Soon Pa’Met and Torsad return with Julian, and the questions begin in earnest.

The genetic resequencing does not come up in conversation. Either Julian’s friends downplayed the extent to which it is problematic in the Federation, or the clerks of the Immigration Office, having found Garak’s name attached to this application, decided it is in their best interest not to dredge up any potential complications. Possibly both; the rumors of his involvement in the Order are not without some benefit. Pa’Met proceeds under the assumption that Julian resigned his Starfleet commission to be with Garak, which suits perfectly.

“When did you first realize your relationship had the potential to be lifelong?”

“When he arrived at my door,” says Garak. “Prior to that, I had no expectation that he would be inclined to leave the Federation.”

“I wasn’t sure he’d want me forever until I came here,” says Julian. “I took the risk because he’s worth it. But if you’re asking when I first started to think of Elim as my partner, the answer is two and a half years ago, after he met my parents.”

It’s a remarkably true lie. Garak knows full well that had nothing to do with Julian’s parents and everything to do with learning about the genetic augmentations. More specifically, his acceptance thereof, and stern rebuking of the elder Bashirs’ lack of discretion.

“That is when we agreed to use first names,” Garak adds.

“Two and a half years?” Torsad is obviously revising her belief that this is an impulsive union. “And you never discussed marriage until this very month?”

“We were on the front lines of a war,” points out Garak. Another true lie, and a reminder that his role in overthrowing the Dominion is notable. Cardassians, by and large, do not like to question authority figures and heroes. It is a trait they could stand to modify to an extent (enough that they don’t let one madman hand the entire Union over to any more enemies), but in the meantime, Garak will use it for his purposes.

“Very well. Bashir, on the application you gave your reason for desiring marriage as ‘he is part of me.’”

“From a human perspective, and more specifically mine, that’s the best possible reason to marry someone.”

Pa’Met and Torsad give Julian puzzled looks. Garak’s answer - a lengthy but concise _ik’ran_ on how he and Julian can better serve Cardassia together, and why it is proper that he make Julian part of his family – was more traditional.

He is, of course, devoted to Julian in every way (second only to Cardassia, as is proper). In fact, he spent most of his decades imagining himself incapable of as much devotion to another person as Julian inspires, much less valuing someone else’s life over his own, so this has all come as something of a surprise. Such sentiment is, however, private, and generally deemed to have no place on official state forms.

Moreover, everyone knows romance and marriage are often distinct matters. It is humans, and indeed the majority of Federation races, who conflate the two.

Garak anticipated Julian would realize he ought to include some pragmatic considerations in answer to why he wanted marriage, and had been dismayed to find the clerk watching closely enough that Julian’s answer would have to stand. Now he realizes it all worked out marvelously, because it helps them bypass the troublesome deception of state. Of course the clerks assume Julian resigned to be with Garak. He gave them every reason to.

If this was Julian’s plan, it is superior even to Garak’s. He suspects it was serendipitous, but it never pays to underestimate Julian. That is one of the attributes which makes him so delightful.

“I realize it’s considered ridiculously impractical by Cardassian standards,” says Julian. “In my culture, it’s the norm. That doesn’t mean we don’t give any thought to more practical matters, and I’m confident that Elim and I satisfy those concerns as well. We’ve been friends for seven years, and as established, intimate enough to use first names for two and a half. I have no doubt we are stronger together, but that doesn’t change the fact that as far as I’m concerned, if he wasn’t part of me, nothing else would matter.”

“Nothing?” asks Pa’Met. Garak ventures to guess the interviewer is finding Julian an outstanding stereotype of Federation sentimentality.

“I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t feel this way,” says Julian.

“But what about your family?” This from Torsad, understandably perplexed that Julian has made no mention of the topic.

“Marriage for the sake of one’s family is, with few exceptions, no longer a part of human society. My parents have never expected I would marry to please them or build a familial alliance.” He wisely refrains from mentioning that he would not care in the least if his parents did have any such plans for him.

“This is all very individualistic,” says Pa’Met uncomfortably.

“In some ways,” says Julian. “However, it means I am here because I want to be. Because out of the options for my life, I’ve chosen Elim and Cardassia, and I’m not here working on any other agenda.”

“You are willing to serve the Cardassian state?” asks Torsad.

The question requires more than a mere yes. Garak told Julian as much in advance; simple yes or no answers will rarely suffice in this context.

“I am a doctor. Treating patients is an acceptable form of service, is it not? I see the need for my profession, and I want to contribute to the best of my abilities. If you’re worried that humans don’t traditionally value service to the state as highly as Cardassians, I will grant that, but add we often consider it important to work for the greater good. I have dedicated my life to medicine so I can heal people and save lives. That is, I trust, a worthy offering to the state.”

It is a good answer. Torsad nods. “Undoubtedly so. And you have no dependents who will desire to join you?”

“No.”

“You intend to make Cardassia your permanent home?”

“Yes, and I’ve already started.”

This is an opportune moment for Garak to point out, “Dr. Karet from the Bantroma hospital finds him to be an asset.”

Julian details his qualifications, striking the right balance between his impressive accomplishments and admitting that his knowledge of Cardassian medicine is not yet complete. The clerks are pleased enough, and they know full well how badly doctors are needed.

“Ezri Dax said the two of you were known on Terok Nor for your literature discussions,” says Pa’Met. “What is your favorite work of Cardassian writing, Bashir?”

Julian is partial to Iloja’s poems composed in exile, and to a radical novel he found in the Federation database which has been banned on Cardassia since it was written a hundred years ago. He can’t name either, so he says, “ _Rally Under the Constant Moon_.” Not one of the more famous Cardassian books, and therefore a good answer.

“Why is that?”

“Honestly, I didn’t really understand it the first time I read it, but later I grew to appreciate how it explores the problems that arise from constantly seeking validation from others.”

Garak doubts Pa’Met has even read the book. Torsad asks, “What about the sibling relationship?” It is the theme for which the work is noted.

“I was less interested in that part.”

No one can say Julian isn’t being forthright with the immigration officials.

It only takes two hours for their marriage application to be approved, a record Garak is sure. The interviewers are duly impressed by Garak’s status as a rebellion leader, charmed by Julian’s knowledge of (if not appreciation for) Cardassian literature, and have no trouble at all believing they’ve been a couple for years.

Once, that would’ve distressed him. Now Garak is grateful it’s one less problem to worry about.

They’re blithely given a date for the formal commitment in fifteen days’ time, wished many happy years together, and sent on their way.

“Will it be scandalous if I have alien guests?” asks Julian once they’re out of the immigration building. “Miles won’t be able to make it. He couldn’t get here in time even if Starfleet would give him the leave. Ezri could come, though. Kira might.”

“Their presence would be no more scandalous than the wedding itself, so you might as well invite them.”

“Excellent. I will.”

“You’ll be allowed to apply for Cardassian citizenship in six years,” Garak says as they begin the long walk home. The underground transportation system is not critical enough to merit the power it requires. Fortunately, Julian’s ability to handle the heat and humidity has improved somewhat, though Garak still has concerns about summer.

“Who says I’ll want to? I’m not inclined to renounce my Federation citizenship, and last I checked, Cardassia makes a person choose.”

“Of course. Divided loyalties are dangerous.”

“Says the man about to marry a Federation citizen.” Julian gives him a very serious look. “Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life here as an alien resident.”

The point isn’t worth arguing with any serious intent. He’s getting Julian on Cardassia and as his husband. Only because Starfleet has a fanatical idealism in regards to genetic engineering, true, but that doesn’t bother him. Julian has other opportunities, for one thing. He’s already declined Rom and Leeta’s invitation to open Ferenginar’s first free medical clinic for the poor. There’s Kira’s offer to have him accredited on Bajor, and General Martok likes him enough that the Klingon Empire might be an option, never mind all the galaxy’s unaligned worlds, but he has chosen Garak and Cardassia.

Moreover, Garak always knew that if he and Julian were to have a future, one of them would have to lose a great deal indeed. That he’s genuinely sorry it came to this, for Julian’s sake, tells him just how far gone he is for the man. If he didn’t care so much, he would only be selfishly pleased without worrying over sorrow for what Julian has lost.

No, Garak understands the importance of holding on to one’s identity while living among aliens. Thus, if Julian wants to remain a Federation citizen for the rest of his life, he will confine his complaints to observations that such will necessarily mean Julian can never vote for him.

“As you like, my dear.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m going to leave.”

He will have the option, and Garak can’t fault him for that precaution. They are being a bit hasty about marriage, in some respects, though in others they are years overdue. “It does unfortunately mean you’ll never be able to cast a vote for me. That’s a valuable moment of publicity lost.”

“I’m sure you can use that to mollify xenophobes.”

“Perhaps.” He’s not convinced it will make a difference, but he may still be thinking of the old Cardassia. For the new Cardassia, it’s too early to say.

In either case, he’s not going to press this issue. He doesn’t want to change Julian and remake him into a Cardassian, even for all the dangerously idealistic Federation views which have managed to survive war and rejection. He’s said he wants to, yes, but rarely did he ever mean it. Garak thinks events of the last year have shown Julian the universe as it is, not as he wishes it to be, and that’s enough change of perspective. If they agreed all the time, life together would be unbearably dull.

“You needn’t be a citizen to be a doctor,” he says. Admittedly, this will bar Julian from the upper echelons of the profession, but he suspects that’s not going to trouble his _anbaras_.

“I can’t believe we’re getting married in a matter of days,” says Julian. “I thought it would take longer.”

“So did I,” admits Garak. “The Federation’s loss is Cardassia’s gain.” And his own, which he doesn’t say aloud but Julian’s particular expression shows he’s heard all the same. “Now, we have grounds to demand you be given rations. Let us proceed to take care of that.”

“I could eat the bars I brought until after we’re married, if it would be easier.”

“Easy does not matter. You are entitled to rations by virtue of your work in the hospital and our pending, approved marriage, and I will not have you denied them.”

“I don’t want to take food from others while I still have some,” says Julian, missing the greater concern as Garak expected he would.  

“We cannot set the dangerous precedent that you will accept being denied what is rightfully yours.” To do so would be asking to be exploited, and Garak will not allow it.

“This is one of those cultural aspects I need to trust you on, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, then, I guess I’d better listen to the one person on this planet who has my best interest at heart.”

“It’s a good idea,” agrees Garak.

While they walk, he marvels at the turn his life has taken. Cardassia is held together now, and will rebuild, only by collective will (and a few key power plants). Adding Julian Bashir’s devotion to his patients can only be a great benefit, and if doing so brings immense delight to a tailor with a political agenda, well, stranger things have happened in this age of upheaval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Walt Whitman quotes are both from "Song of Myself," 1892 version. 
> 
> I have one long chapter and an epilogue to come. This will end the series (well over 100k words later!), but I have a few general thoughts on what might happen next, as well as a deleted scene or three. If you're interested, let me know and I can put up a chapter of bonus material.


	6. Ka’tur-Routzx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab:  
>  _rokonterel’pa_ is the practice of sending messages through entertainment choices with a common theme, as discussed in “A Chasm in Perspective”  
>  _ik_ is the Cardassi equivalent of a sentence, as mentioned in “Points of No Return”  
>  _anshwar_ is the intimate practice of resting foreheads together, which hasn’t appeared in this series previously; I put forth the term in my fic “Altering Course”
> 
> Another piece of music which fits perfectly, and in fact was on repeat during the final segment in this chapter: [Selene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktUMAbcRaK8)

There is much to do in a disaster zone. Garak clothes individuals who escaped with nothing more than their lives, moves rubble on his work crew afternoons, and begins his new career as a political agitator. He’s putting the finishing touches on a persuasive essay he means to release within the week. Julian works long shifts at the hospital. By the day of their marriage, the overworked medical staff has stopped confining him to the simplest of tasks and instead taken the extraordinary step of treating him as a de facto doctor, lack of official license notwithstanding.

They truly live in days of chaos.

Necessarily, their wedding will be light on festivities, but they don’t lack for guests. Or Julian doesn’t, anyway, which is what matters.

Lieutenant Dax attends. This isn’t a surprise. Colonel Kira joins her, which _is_ unexpected. She and Garak came to an understanding when they fought in Damar’s rebellion together, and he is willing to include her on the short list of people he unhesitatingly respects, but didn’t think she would approve of this marriage.

The two women materialize in the plaza, attracting a fair bit of attention from passers-by. Garak wonders if his personal life will ever cease to be of interest to the gossips. Not likely, considering the visibility he requires for his new role.

The colonel gives Garak a nod, then addresses Julian. “On Bajor, it’s considered important to have friends stand beside you as you get married.”

Garak understands what she really means. Everything Julian lost, he gave up for Kira’s life. Or so she believes, anyway; there was undoubtedly also a great deal of Julian’s own morality involved as well. She wants Julian to know that however strenuously Starfleet has rejected him, she will not, no matter if she disagrees with his matrimonial choice.

Dax’s presence is more straightforward. She is there as Julian’s friend of two lifetimes, and since she carries the late commander’s memories, as the only person who has ever begun to appreciate their relationship.

As for Julian’s other close friend, Dax pulls out an oversize padd, taps it a few times, and turns it around to show what is obviously a live feed of O’Brien himself.

“Miles!” Julian is delighted, and Garak is happy enough on his behalf.

“I’m only sorry I can’t be there in person.” Oddly enough, he appears to mean it, unless he has grown much better at dissembling since he returned to Earth, which Garak doubts. It raises the intriguing possibility that O’Brien’s disapproval of their relationship has tempered with time.

Meanwhile, Julian tells his human friend, “I never expected you could get out here in time.”

“My Transporter Mechanics students thank you for getting married during their class time, since I gave them the morning off.”

Students openly reveling in shirking their duty to study? Notwithstanding seven years among them and now marrying one, Garak will never fully understand humans.

“So,” asks Lieutenant Dax, “how does a Cardassian wedding work?”

“It’s a simple matter of registering with the local Office of Records,” says Garak. “Traditionally followed by as lavish a celebration as the families could afford.”

“We’re skipping that part,” adds Julian unnecessarily.

“I have a cake on the runabout,” says Dax. “I thought you might like to incorporate a human tradition, and that seemed like a good one.”

Cardassia needs nutritious food far more than it needs cake – they’re living on the edge of starvation and Garak is beginning to miss even the Replimat’s worst dishes – but he recognizes Dax’s celebratory gesture for what it is, so he says nothing of the sort.

“Dress uniform, Ezri?” asks Julian quietly as they walk to the Records Office.

“It seemed appropriate for the occasion.”

“More like sticking it to Starfleet,” says O’Brien.

“It’s the Curzon in me.”

They make quite a sight: a Cardassian, a human, a Bajoran Militia colonel, and a Trill in Starfleet dress uniform, stepping over the broken stones of the plaza together. It’s just as well Garak already planned to base his campaign on breaking from the past.

It’s also just as well that, for all Kira’s name is known, her face is not. They attract enough attention as it is. After a lifetime of hiding in the shadows, Garak is not used to being so visible. He’s going to have to get used to it – the success of his political aims depends on this – so he will, but one doesn’t decondition the habits of decades in a matter of weeks.

“Will he be accepted here?” asks Kira while Julian, Dax, and O’Brien discuss the finer points of Starfleet uniform regulations.

“More than he is in the Federation,” says Garak. “His genetic status is a concern only for his family, from our perspective. His species is another matter, but he’s already made himself quite valuable to the hospital staff. It’s remarkable how much xenophobia a person is willing to disregard when the only doctor available to treat their critical injury is human.”

He expects Julian will have little difficulty winning over all but the most devoted xenophobes, based on his reception so far. At least where direct personal interaction is concerned; those who only know of him in theory will be more difficult. Still, Cardassia is changing because it must, and that may well include a marked reduction in xenophobia. Their immediate neighbors took to Julian the moment he started coming up with physical therapy regimens for injured residents of his own initiative and in his scarce free time. (He’s up to five such patients now, including Onela Rantor.) A few of the romantics in their building are quite taken with him coming to find Garak among the ruins of Cardassia, as well. Sentimentality is flourishing in these trying times.

“Good.” Kira hands him a microchip. “My personal comm code. In case Julian’s too stubborn to ask for help himself.”

“I don’t intend to need it.” All the same, he accepts it gratefully. If the situation in Cardassia City turns worse, which it well might considering reports from ravaged agricultural colonies, he’s not about to refuse a potential lifeline. This is entirely for Julian’s benefit, he knows. Kira wouldn’t do it for him, but he wouldn’t do it for her if their positions were reversed, so they understand each other.

“I heard that,” says Julian. “Auditory abilities were among my numerous enhancements.”

Dax and Kira aren’t sure how to respond, while O’Brien is similarly silent on the padd. Garak doesn’t have that problem. “Splendid. You’ll be able to hear any enemies coming far earlier than they’d anticipate, not to mention indications the apartment building might be about to succumb to gravity.”

“It also means I have to hear more about the neighbors’ intimate lives than I ever wanted to know,” complains Julian, and Dax giggles while O’Brien groans.

Garak wonders if he can convince Julian to use this ability to assist in political information-gathering. Probably not, but he’ll ask anyway. It could start an engaging conversation.

The legal commitment of marriage is short on ceremony. They are ushered into the Office of Records, where eyeridges are once again raised over an interspecies marriage attended by aliens from two completely different races, including a Bajoran (the earring is distinctive), and a third observing from a Starfleet padd.

Garak thinks Tain would’ve been apoplectic, and finds the idea perversely satisfying.

First, both parties are required to read the marriage declaration. It’s a formality in most cases, as all Cardassians are expected to know the rights and responsibility of matrimony.

“Do you need a translation?” asks the clerk, one Hakon whose work crew often joins with Garak’s. He is either erring on the side of caution or thinks Julian is foolish enough to enter a union he doesn’t understand. Apparently, the clerk who took their application failed to mention Julian’s admirable performance on the language exams.

Julian accepts the tablet with its Cardassi text. “That won’t be necessary, but I appreciate your forethought.”

Hakon is impressed and abashed to realize Julian’s drawl is a natural accent, not a translator flaw. Garak suspects this is going to raise Julian’s standing in the community considerably, considering Hakon’s proclivity to gossip.

Neither is it lost on the clerk how rapidly Julian reads the declaration before handing it back. Garak returns his copy also – he hadn’t needed to reread it in the first place.

A quick glance to the side reveals Dax smiling and Kira studiously ignoring the two Cardassians who stopped attending their own business in the Office of Records in favor of looking at her with disbelief. Julian, of course, is grinning widely despite a half-hearted attempt at solemnity appropriate for the occasion. Garak finds this charming.

“You understand the commitment you are about to make,” says Hakon.

“I understand perfectly,” says Julian, and Hakon looks inclined to believe him.

Garak echoes, “I understand.”

“As there are no family objections to override, we may proceed.”

It’s difficult for the dead to offer objections, and Mila would not have in the first place. As for Julian’s parents, he is entirely unconcerned with their approval or lack thereof. In fact, he only got around to informing them he’s marrying Garak and staying on Cardassia when Lieutenant Dax told him to. Apparently Mrs. Bashir remembered the name Dax, and when she didn’t hear from her son soon enough to assuage her worries, contacted the lieutenant seeking an update. Thereafter, Dax sent a note: “Unless your plan is to cut all ties with her, write to your mother, Julian.”

He did, but no doubt neglected to inform his parents they might have registered an official protest. Presuming they could’ve gotten it through the shambles of the communications network, of course. That takes a certain finesse at present.

Hakon pulls up a new document on the tablet. This is the official certificate of marriage, which in the old days would’ve been registered at every level of government within the hour. It will take longer now.

“The certificate meets with your approval?” asks Hakon.

“It does,” says Garak. Julian’s name is written first in the Cardassi transliteration which Garak himself invented, and then in Federation Standard.

“Yes,” says Julian.

“Then we proceed.” Hakon hands the tablet to Garak, who places his thumbprint where indicated, and signs his name below.

He and Julian pause to share a look of appreciation before Julian takes the tablet and does the same, though neither the Cardassi nor Standard result is legible. It’s a human peculiarity to think one’s autograph need not be decipherable.

“All is in order,” says the clerk, choosing not to comment on Julian’s scrawled and unreadable signatures. “I will file this with the district and planetary offices as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” says Garak.

“May the joining of your lives bring joy to you both.”

“I’m sure it will,” says Julian, which is not the traditional response and leaves Hakon slightly flummoxed. Garak enjoys that perhaps a bit more than he ought.

After a moment, the clerk rallies his wits and says, “In these trying times, it pleases to see happiness still flourishing.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” says Garak. He then loops his arm through Julian’s and leads his new husband away from the desk.

Hakon remembers something. “Bashir, please return the day following tomorrow at the same time. We must submit the alien residence paperwork, and I’ll need a tooth.”

“Right, the tooth. I’ll see you in two days, with a numbing agent.”

“That’s it?” asks Dax as they leave the Office of Records, clearly disappointed.

“We’re married,” confirms Julian with a wide grin.

Dax sets aside any unhappiness with the lack of pomp. “Congratulations! I’m really happy for both of you. Should we get that cake now?”

“Don’t forget the champagne,” says O’Brien. “I paid Quark enough for the real thing.”

“I think cake and champagne would be excellent,” says Julian, and Garak nods his agreement.

Once, there would have been a feast following a wedding, with live music, well-crafted toasts to the couple, and a custom poem or four. Garak, having never previously envisioned himself getting married at all – agents didn’t marry - therefore doesn’t find the absence of these traditions to be cutting. He suspects Dax might be more regretful about it than he is. He is simply pleased beyond measure that Julian is his husband.

“How far to your apartment?” asks Dax.

Julian answers. “Two point eight kilometers.”

Dax is displeased. Garak thinks the heat is even less agreeable to her than Julian. “Would it offend anyone if we use the runabout’s transporter? I’d rather not get heatstroke on your wedding day.”

“By all means,” says Julian. “You see why we scheduled the ceremony for later, after the worst of the day. Noon is brutal.” He stays inside during the midday hours if possible, and considering he’s usually busy at the hospital, this rarely presents any difficulty.

O’Brien says, “I thought you didn’t get to chose when you got married.”

“We were assigned a day, but could choose the time,” Julian explains.

“Winter was nicer,” says Kira. “We can all go up to the runabout.”

Garak nods. It is more efficient than having their guests wait in the runabout while he and Julian walk back, and besides, Julian’s acclimation is still a work in progress. Even his augmented physiology can only handle so much direct Cardassian sun.

Personally, Garak has not missed the Federation’s default temperature settings one bit. The runabout is cold, and he doesn’t have the thermal undergarments he habitually wore on the station.

“May I use the replicator?” asks Julian.

“Of course,” says Kira.

“I brought the electrolytes and cooling unit you asked for,” says Dax. “And a few other things I thought you might be able to use. The solar generator is from Kira.”

A useful gift indeed. Tantalizingly, sonic showers lasting longer than fifty seconds every other day enter the realm of possibility.

“Thank you both,” says Julian. “It’s very kind of you. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I’m after cups at the moment.”

Dax isn’t concerned about gratitude or lack thereof. “I didn’t bring any cups. I have glasses for the champagne, though.”

Garak hadn’t intended to trouble their guests over those, but he doesn’t object to following the tradition, which he first explained five years ago to clarify a poem.

Julian asks, “How many, Elim?”

He doesn’t have to think about it. “Two. Mila and Ziyal.” No doubt Julian wants to ensure a third is not required, and it is decidedly not. There is no place for Tain at this wedding.

Kira and Dax look at them with confusion. Julian explains, “We’ve managed to find four, but we don’t have any extra, and it’s customary at Cardassian weddings to set cups out in honor of those who are no longer alive to celebrate with the newlyweds.”

He turns to the replicator, but pauses when Dax says quietly, “Julian.”

“Yes?”

“You can set one for Jadzia, if you want. I won’t be offended.”

He smiles sadly, and Garak makes note of how easily Dax ascertained the dilemma. “I’d like that.” To the replicator he orders, “Three drinking glasses, four hundred milliliter capacity. And a liter bottle of icoberry juice.”

That done, Kira beams Garak and Julian into their blessedly warmer apartment. Garak is assigned the task of carrying the cake, which is generously sized and quite the luxury at present.

Dax and Kira materialize with four crates and a stasis box. The lieutenant has clearly been generous with what she thinks might be of use to them, and since Cardassia is short on nearly every object of utility, Garak has no doubt whatever she selected will be valuable.

He considers himself fortunate to have found a table recently, and two mismatched chairs to go with it. With the couch, they have seating for four.

Julian sets the glasses on the counter, then pours a small portion of icoberry juice in one of them. “For you, Jadzia,” he murmurs. “Thank you for always supporting me, and us.”

If they’re going to do this, they’ll do it right. Garak gives Julian a moment to remember his friend, then says, “In Mila’s as well, my dear.”

“Oh.” Julian tips juice into a second glass. “I hadn’t realized, but I’m glad.”

It pleases Garak as well. At the time, he didn’t appreciate her interrogation, seeing as how he was attempting to salvage a rebellion. Mila was undeterred, a fact for which he is now grateful. She’d known he had an _anbaras_ since he requested information on the topic years before, and took the first chance to insist he give her more details about the man.

Garak learned how to break people with his eyes from the best. He told her very little before fleeing to the relative safety of the basement, but she approved of his human _anbaras_ based solely on the esteem with which Garak spoke of him.

_“I’m waiting for details, Elim. I have been for years, so your dinner can wait a few more minutes.”_

_“It’s not my dinner I’m worried about. Since you’re apparently willing to hold up our activities against the Dominion to satisfy your curiosity…”_

_“There are no activities to hold up, at the moment.”_

_“I was hoping to change that, but instead I’m being interrogated about my personal life.”_

_“I take my opportunities where I can get them.”_

_“Very well. If you must know, he is an exhilarating conversationalist.”_

_“That goes without saying, if he held your interest for any length of time.”_

_“He is in equal measure delightful and impossible. Would you believe he finds_ The Never Ending Sacrifice _dull?”_

_“I’ve always found it overrated myself. I think I like this man, Elim.”_

Yes, Mila would have been very happy to celebrate their marriage. She and Julian could have denigrated great works of literature together.

In the interest of not irking Kira, Garak thinks it’s wise to explain why they have conspicuously not added juice to the third glass. “A cup with beverage indicates the individual approved of the relationship which has since led to marriage. An empty one signifies someone who did not have the opportunity.”

Truthfully, by strict interpretation of the custom, Ziyal’s inclusion is an aberration. She was neither family nor an intimate friend. She was, however, one of the only people in Garak’s life for whom he honestly cared and who in turn cared for him, and it therefore seems appropriate to set a glass for her.

The colonel’s eyes flick to Ziyal’s painting in its spot on the wall, and she nods slightly in understanding.

Dax unpacks the stasis box. They may not have a feast by the traditional standards, but Julian requested she bring crab cakes, which are Garak’s favorite human meal, as a surprise. They eat these delicacies with large salads, and by recent measures, it’s a feast indeed.

“You were speaking Cardassi, weren’t you?” asks Dax.

Julian nods. “I started learning after my parents let slip about the resequencing and I didn’t have any reason to hide how fast I could pick it up.” He does not add that he knew it would bring Garak great pleasure, though that was undoubtedly part of his motivation.

“He reads fluently and speaks nearly so,” adds Garak with some pride in his new husband. Cardassi is, by reputation, a difficult language to master. “However, his handwriting leaves much to be desired.”

“Only because the characters are ridiculously complex and variable,” says Julian, who really ought to save the serious flirting for when his guests have departed.

O’Brien says, “He’s a doctor. Nobody expects him to have good handwriting.”

How strange. “I hadn’t realized the skill was dependent on one’s vocation.”

“We didn’t have to worry about getting those backup filters going.” That’s Colonel Kira, impressed or nearly so.

“I could read most of the words,” says Julian. “Engineering nouns aren’t my strongest point, and none of it meant I knew which mechanical part was which. Ezri, back to your question, I’m told I have a unique Cardassi accent. My patients tend to assume I’m using a low-quality UT.”

He prolongs his glottal stops longer than required, he has a drawl with which Garak is privately enamored, and his approximation of the ‘tzx’ sound bears only a vague resemblance to proper form. For all this, he still speaks well and rarely gives cause to doubt what he means to convey. He may have an odd accent, but his vocabulary and grammar are excellent. Garak likes to give himself some credit for that.

“I’m having more trouble with nodding,” continues Julian.

O’Brien looks up from his own crab cakes. For a man light-years away, he is remarkably present at the celebration. “How can nodding be hard?”

“The depth, duration, and eye contact expected vary greatly depending on circumstances.”

“Cardassians are known for complex body language,” chimes in Dax. Kira keeps her own counsel.

This begins a brief but spirited conversation on body language dominated by Julian and Dax, the latter evidently having great interest in the subject. Garak corrects a few of Julian’s oversimplifications regarding Cardassian custom, while O’Brien looks amused and Kira wistful. Garak guesses she misses Julian’s presence more than she might have suspected. Or, seeing Julian reunited with Garak, she may be thinking of Odo.

“Garak,” says the colonel quietly.

“Yes?”

She checks to verify that the other three are occupied. “What you told us about your father. I left it out of my reports. It didn’t seem like anyone else’s business.”

That he had not expected. It’s a pleasant surprise to learn that Starfleet and the Bajoran Militia aren’t privy to the secret of his paternity, even if it’s not such a dangerous secret anymore. “I appreciate that greatly, Colonel.” He looks to where Julian is using Dax in a demonstration of differences between Cardassian and human concepts of personal space. “Julian knows, of course.”

“And you knew about his genetics.”

“Yes.”

Kira thinks for a moment, and Garak cannot presume to know what runs through her head, but she seems satisfied. Perhaps she is aware that sharing secrets is an essential aspect of Cardassian intimacy.

Dax promises to send several interesting papers on comparative body language to Julian, then turns to Garak and asks, “Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing now?”

“Certainly. I am very busy between my work crew assignment, tailoring, and launching my political campaign.”

“You’re going into politics?” asks Dax at the same time O’Brien echoes, “Work crew? Julian, do you have one of those?”

Garak gazes from Julian to O’Brien on the padd, and Julian answers first. “No. Medical personnel are exempt, and the hospital is so short-staffed they’re overlooking my present lack of official credentials, a problem which I will commence rectifying tomorrow.”

“If you’re the new guy, do you have to work nights or something?” asks O’Brien.

“Night shifts are a privilege reserved for the elderly,” Garak says.

O’Brien’s eyebrows go up. “Privilege?”

“Low light is easier on their eyes,” adds Julian. “Which is just as well for me.”

Garak thinks Julian would do better in the coolness of night, but then they would see little of each other, which is not desirable.

That established, Garak addresses Dax. “Yes, I have concluded that I can best serve Cardassia by entering politics.”

“He doesn’t expect to win,” adds Julian.

“Victory is not the objective. My goal is to force conversations which must be held if we are to avoid repeating past mistakes.”

Kira looks at him with something like respect. “It’s a worthy goal.”

“I think so,” he replies with a courteous nod - a gesture made to an equal, even if the colonel doesn’t realize it as such. After working together in Damar’s rebellion, he can do no less.

“Cardassians have long believed devotion requires a willingness to ignore flaws,” Julian says. “Recent events made the dangers of this view evident, among other sea changes, but no one has stepped forward to speak of them publicly. That’s the role he’s taking.”

Elim Garak a reformer, even a radical. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the multiverse has developed a sense of humor.  

“Politics? Better you than me,” says O’Brien, who is quite correct. He is, Garak will admit, a talented engineer, but would make an abysmal politician. “Oh, Keiko sends her congratulations, and I’m supposed to ask if there’s anything in particular you want for a wedding present.”

Julian says, “You already gave us the champagne.”

Garak won’t mention any little luxuries (he would not object if the O’Briens were to send a shipment of crab meat), but there’s one item he wants for Julian’s health. “Is there such a thing as a wearable personal cooling device with an independent power supply? I believe Julian would benefit from one when he has to walk to and from the hospital in the summer months.”

“There’s got to be. If not, I could make something.” O’Brien’s engineering mind is already thinking about the specifics. “Solar powered would work. Maybe a vest.”

“Thank you,” replies Garak.

“Think about what else you’d like, Julian, and let us know.”

Throughout the meal, Julian updates his friends on the details of his new life. Dax makes a few subtle inquiries, clearly aiming to ascertain the state of his mental health, and does not appear unduly concerned.

It is true, of course, that being feared, unwanted, and illegal in the Federation is difficult for Julian, but then, he’s known this to be the case for many years. The constant fear of exposure was more stressful than he likes to admit. Living a falsehood is not naturally agreeable for Julian and marred the last nineteen years of his life, so he has confessed to some relief, no matter how the rejection pains him.

He is also greatly relieved by his continuing friendships with these three individuals who choose to celebrate his marriage. Garak, out of appreciation for how much this means to his husband, would for Julian’s sake inconvenience himself considerably for any of them.

Not that he’ll say so.

“You mean all those books helped you win over the immigration officials?” asks O’Brien.

Julian nods. “I think I’ve read more Cardassian classics than Pa’Met.”

“Undoubtedly,” agrees Garak. “The man should be ashamed of himself.”

“I think offering a few obscure quotes helped my case.” Julian is correct. Torsad, at least, was impressed.

“You remember quotes from those books?” O’Brien asks.

“I remember almost everything.” Julian follows the statement with a self-effacing shrug. “It’s useful on a planet where that’s expected.”

In fact his memory is better than the Cardassian average, even superior to Garak’s excellent recall. Garak does not mention this, as he doubts Julian wants to call attention to it. Instead he says, “That, along with his recollections of my thoughts on the books in question, was strong evidence that our relationship is longstanding.”

“I told the immigration officials this marriage was a long time coming,” says Dax.

“So did I,” says O’Brien.

Kira chimes in with, “I told them you two definitely had a preexisting relationship, and that they’d be idiots to get such a good doctor get away.”

Garak hopes she was at least slightly more tactful in her word choice.

“You know, Nerys,” says Julian, and Garak wasn’t aware the colonel had permitted Julian to use her first name, “Your word carried weight.”

“It did?”

“Your contributions to the rebellion are more widely known and appreciated than the provisional government might like,” Garak explains.

“What he means is, you’re somewhat famous on Cardassia. A testament to the benefits of interspecies cooperation, even.”

“Julian is, as usual, being optimistic on the last point. Your influence is nevertheless real and did work to our advantage. It is much appreciated.”

“I’m glad to help,” says Kira, stunned and, he thinks, amused at this turn her life has taken.

Dax asks, “Is that why people were staring at us?”

“Oh, no,” Julian says. “That was your average shock over an interspecies marriage attended by other non-Cardassian races. My arrival and our relationship has been of immense interest to community.”

O’Brien states the obvious as a question. “Fueling the gossip mill?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Julian regales his friends with three anecdotes about reactions to his arrival. Days later, he’s still particularly amused by the young patient who asked if he was Vulcan. The look on Colonel Kira’s face when he mentions this incident is more entertaining, to Garak’s mind.

When the conversation reaches a natural lull, Dax asks, “Who wants cake?”

“I do,” says Julian. “It was an excellent idea to bring cake.”

Garak nods his agreement and gets up to slice the confection. “Yes, thank you, Lieutenant.”

“It was no trouble.”

“I’ll pour the champagne,” says Julian. “Thank you, Miles.”

“Sure,” says O’Brien. “Be right back.”

Soon they all have cake and champagne, even O’Brien, though he complains the replicator in his office will only give him sythahol.

“They must be worried your students will drive you to drink,” says Julian.

“There are days. Okay, you two are the ones good with words, so I’ll keep this short.” It becomes apparent that this celebration will have a toast, after all. Garak dutifully waits to start in on his dessert.

“My mother always said we find joy and love in unexpected places. For you two, that place was the Replimat, arguing about books. So, instead of the usual thoughts on taking care of each other and starting a new adventure as a married couple, I want to wish you many happy years of hating each other’s taste in literature.” With that, O’Brien lifts his glass. “To Julian and Garak.”

“To Julian and Garak,” echo Dax and Kira, and they all drink the surprisingly good champagne.

That was without question the shortest toast ever offered at a Cardassian wedding. Still, by all appearances it was heartfelt, and moreover Garak is indeed eagerly anticipating years of debating literature (and any number of other subjects) with Julian, just as O’Brien stated, so in the balance, he considers it a successful speech.

The cake is also enjoyable.

Despite the other little pleasantries, the best aspect of this day is quite simply that he and Julian are married. It is as Julian told the immigration officials: of all the options still open to him, which are many, he has chosen Garak and Cardassia. Therefore, Garak resolves he will do everything in his power to ensure his husband never finds cause to regret the decision.

In fact, he believes an indulgence in sentiment might be called for. Humans are very fond of mixing romance with weddings, after all, and he is willing to offer that concession in a Cardassian manner. Keeping his tone light, he offers an abridged version of that time-honored tradition, _rokonterel’pa_. “Speaking of literature, Julian: Lozarut and Mentir, Da’Naan and Rentak, Boranth and Takenz.”

Julian’s eyebrows raise in delighted surprise. “You have nothing to prove to me, but if you’re offering, you know the answer is yes.”

Garak thought he might very well have something to prove, considering the difficulties Julian is willing to face to be with him, and is relieved to find this is not the case. Still, the offer has been made and he will not be so rude as to retract it. “We have the required witnesses.”

“Is someone going to explain to the rest of us?” asks O’Brien.

The answer ought to be obvious, Garak thinks. “A Cardassian wedding custom. One which has lost popularity in recent decades.”

“Reserved for marriages where the parties share great affection, as opposed to entirely practical unions,” adds Julian, and it’s more than their guests really need to know, but Julian does so enjoy providing details. “It’s not as alarming as it might look.”

Garak removes the knife he keeps strapped to his right ankle and hands it to Julian, who stands. When he first explained the _ka’tur-routzx_ , Julian thought it “perplexing and not particularly romantic.” In later years he reconsidered. He has at least some idea the depth of trust involved, and that there is no one else in the multiverse for whom Garak would do this. The understanding shines in his eyes.

Garak tilts his head back, presenting the soft, defenseless skin of his neck in a display of trust. He’s always thought the lack of protective scales there to be a defect of evolution. The pose goes against all his instincts, despite knowing that he is in no danger.

“ _Routzx,_ Julian.” The word is an ancient statement of confidence.

Julian holds the knife near Garak’s throat, tracing an arc that stops just short of breaking the skin and spilling blood. It is a position Cardassians are not wont to accept, Garak less than most, but he remains still and allows Julian to proceed, to move the blade slowly across his neck and from there to point directly at his heart, which races in automatic response to threat.

Julian smiles with breathtaking joy and his very human love, then flips the blade so it hovers over his own heart. “ _Ka’tur_.” The archaic possessive, pronounced in his unique manner, completes the first half of the ritual.

Garak takes the knife and stands while Julian sits and offers his golden neck. “ _Routzx,_ Elim.” There is not the slightest trace of fear in his eyes, nor any hesitation whatsoever in his body language. He is utterly at ease.

He does not fear weakness, and paradoxically, is therefore a stronger man than Garak will ever be.

Garak moves the knife, so close to ending Julian’s life, because Julian’s willing vulnerability gives him that power. Why, he could stab the knife into Julian’s chest right now before anyone could stop him. But he will not, will never, because Julian is part of him, and he could no sooner plunge the knife into Julian’s heart than his own. That is the significance of the final act of turning the tip of the blade on himself, and why this entire custom is steeped in sentiment.

“ _Ka’tur_ ,” he says.

Julian grins, stands, and kisses him. In front of guests, which is exhibitionistic and obviously not acceptable behavior on Cardassia, though no one has ever thought to worry about parameters for kissing as the practice doesn’t exist. Garak tries not to look overly horrified. Concessions to human culture, indeed.

“That was strangely beautiful,” says Dax. “I could see how much you trust each other.”

O’Brien remains unimpressed. “So if you love the person you just married, you hold a knife to their throat?”

Garak makes an attempt to control the conversation which is likely to be in vain. “How many people would you allow to move a blade a millimeter from your vital arteries, Chief? Or shall I say Professor?”

“Either’s fine, and not many people, but it doesn’t exactly scream ‘I love you.’”

Garak hadn’t expected O’Brien to comprehend the significance, anyway. That doesn’t stop Julian from offering more information.

“There’s no Cardassian concept which translates exactly to love as we conceive of it, an independent emotion. Where we would say ‘I love you,’ the equivalent Cardassi expression is ‘You are part of me.’ Don’t look at me like that, Elim. You knew full well we couldn’t hold a knife to each other’s throats without giving a reason why, and if you say you’d hoped otherwise, I’ll be forced to conclude my optimism has finally rubbed off on you.”

Kira gets a laugh out of that. Garak gives his best longsuffering sigh, to discouragingly little effect.

“You can’t hurt your spouse, because it would be hurting yourself,” Dax concludes. She is entirely too perceptive.

“Exactly.”

“If you continue to be so open about Cardassian customs, the Immigration Office might wish to reconsider its decision,” says Garak without real malice.

“Garak,” says Dax calmly after a bite of cake, “We all know you love Julian. Or whatever the Cardassian equivalent is.”

Neither O’Brien nor Kira object to this statement. In fact, O’Brien nods his agreement while Kira sips her champagne, unsurprised.

“I mean, I’ve known since I made sense of Jadzia’s memories, and everything I’ve seen has confirmed it.”

He finds he is not as alarmed by being so known as he would have expected. It’s not entirely comfortable, admittedly. Julian is by far Garak’s greatest weakness, and has been for longer than he cares to admit; to have others aware of this vulnerability goes against his well-honed instinct for self-preservation.

Still, he has accepted the fact of the matter, which is that allowing Julian to be part of himself, permitting someone so integral to his life to be outside his own body and control, carries inherent risk. It is a risk he is willing to take in order to share his days with Julian. If others know this, they have only realized what has grown too obvious to hide.  

Garak is no longer entirely his father’s son, and he is content as such, if it means he is Julian’s husband. Besides, Cardassia does not need the Son of Tain. It needs a man who is willing to call out its flaws in order to amend them, and give a gifted doctor reason to make his home here.

The rest of their celebration passes easily until O’Brien is obliged to return to his duties, at which point Kira and Dax note they ought to depart, as well. Garak allows Julian privacy to speak with the women.

Dax leaves Julian and Kira to converse. “Garak,” she says quietly, “Take care of Julian. And let him take care of you.”

“I intend to do the former, and have little choice in the latter.”

She gives him a knowing smile which brings to mind Jadzia Dax. “You’ve always had a choice.”

She may have a point.

Soon it is just Garak and Julian, alone in their apartment, married. Garak had never expected a spouse at all, and certainly not Julian. This was not intended to be his lot in life, so though he is exceptionally pleased with it, the whole thing is still tinged with surrealism.   

“Ezri’s planning to have her zhian’tara in a few months,” Julian says. “I told her to let me know the exact date as soon as possible, so I can arrange to be there if she’d like.”

“Which I assume she would.”

“Yes.”

There’s something else. Julian is displaying the particular mixture of defiance with a touch of guilt which arises when he is certain he’s doing the right thing, but knows others might have reasonable grounds to object. It does not take Garak long to reason why. “You volunteered to let the murderer borrow your body, didn’t you?”

“Someone has to, and we can’t count on Captain Sisko coming back in time.”

Someone, yes. Julian, no. “Don’t the Trill have Guardians for this kind of thing?”

“That’s not how it works.”

Garak is about to offer a very sensible argument, namely that giving a psychopathic murderer control over a genetically augmented body is not a good idea by any measure he can think of, and surely Julian can host one of Dax’s multiple other previous selves, when Julian says quietly, “Ezri won’t ask anyone to host Joran. I’ve never had many friends. I have less now, and she hasn’t turned her back on me when most of the Federation says she should. How can I not do this for her?”

Garak accepts there is no argument he can offer which will change Julian’s mind. “Fine,” he says. “If you must, but I will be there to ensure no permanent harm comes to you. I have a vested interest in your safety.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“What is that peculiar human expression? Famous last words?”

“If you want to come be cold on the station with me, you’re welcome to,” says Julian. He’s really quite pleased by Garak’s concern, though he won’t admit it any more than Garak would.

“Please. Wanting has nothing to do with it. It’s my spousal duty.”

“Oh? Was there an _ik_ in the marriage declaration I missed which covered Trill telepathic rituals?”

“I’ve told you dozens of times you have to read carefully.”

Julian grins. “I’ll make sure we get guest quarters for two. In the meantime, I could go for another slice of cake, how about you?”

“It’s probably best enjoyed fresh,” agrees Garak.

Julian gives him a look indicating he knows this has nothing to do with freshness, but rather Garak’s regrettable taste for sweets. Garak presents an air of complete innocence and cuts more cake.

After they eat, they put away the items Dax brought, which range from the eminently practical (five hundred ration bars and a small water purifier) to the luxurious (Tarkalean tea and honey). Garak doesn’t hold much hope for liking the selection of famed Trill literature she included, but imagines the potential for agreeably combative debates is vast. This pleasant task done, Julian decides to bring Onela Rantor a piece of the leftover cake.

On his return he finds Garak looking out the west-facing window, where the destruction of the city center is painfully obvious. He can see far too much sky and horizon. Here City Headquarters used to reach up with spiraling towers; there used to be an architecturally renowned residential complex; further north is a crater where the Detapa Council Chambers used to command the view next to a museum with the best-loved art on Cardassia. Now, like so much else, all reduced to ruins and graves.

Whatever sins Cardassia committed (and Garak will not deny how terribly his world betrayed the Alpha Quadrant), this much punishment is excessive.

It is unfamiliar for Garak to be happy. Perhaps that’s why he’s tempering it with the sobering view, this unrelenting reminder of a pain which he doesn’t think will ever fully heal. The Cardassia he knew and lived for, flaws and all, is gone. It will never return. They have a chance to build a better world, yes, but only in the wake of such loss and devastation that every person on the planet grieves more loss than the mind can comprehend.

And yet. Garak has returned to what is left of his world, in a position to influence its course toward a more stable future, and Julian is here with him, as his husband. He never expected this, of all possible paths his life could take. Allowing another to become part of himself, for one, or anyone having remote interest in reciprocating. That Julian – brilliant, generous, passionate, loyal Julian – has not only come to Cardassia but happily married him… it’s a stunning reversal in his personal fortunes.

Julian stands beside him and quietly says, “Elim.”

“Yes?”

“I have it on good authority this is what married couples do.” He proceeds to press his forehead against Garak’s in _anshwar._ It’s such an intimate gesture that Garak never dared suggest it in all their years on the station. He hopes his ridges aren’t too uncomfortable on Julian’s tender human skin, because he quite likes the experience and would prefer to repeat it frequently.

Evidently he needn’t have worried. Julian leans in slightly. “I want to feel you,” he says.

They relocate to the _malon anbar_ , still savoring the connection of the _anshwar_. Garak understands now why these two concepts share the same root word for universe. When his forehead rests against Julian’s, the rest of the world does seem to fade away, inasmuch as he ever allows.

Soon enough Julian gets restless and starts kissing, as he’s wont to do when feeling particularly affectionate. “Has it occurred to you that there may, in fact, be something to the business about _malon anbar_ forming between soulmates?” It takes him some time to get out the question, what with all the kisses.

Garak recognizes the glint in his husband’s eyes as meaning the question is flirtation, not to be taken seriously. (As far as he knows, Julian’s leading theory for the formation of the _malon anbar_ is still complementary brain waves.) He is pleased to return in kind. “Let’s not ruin the moment with absurd notions of metaphysics.”

When Julian demonstrates his ability to laugh and kiss simultaneously, Garak thinks he may soon become accustomed to this foreign feeling of domestic happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I have labored over this for quite some time, so comments delight me. =) And yes, I did make myself cry again writing the tribute to Jadzia. 
> 
> Epilogue to come.


	7. Coda

“Congratulations, Doctor Bashir.”

Julian heard those words before upon receiving a medical license, on another planet, in another language. He finds they mean more this time around because he doesn’t feel like a fraud.

He made a point to tell the Cardassian Medical Authority about his augmentations, and the response was merely academic interest. “Does that mean reports of humans’ inferior memories aren’t exaggerated after all?”

This time, he’s not basing his whole life on a lie.

He still misses DS9 sometimes. The comradery and friendships he had there were unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and he knows he’ll never be able to recapture that. However good a life he builds on Cardassia, and he is making real progress on that front, it will be different in every way.

And yet, on a world barely staggering along, where food and energy are scarce, the entire society threatens to collapse every third week, and he’s looked at askance multiple times daily, Julian feels very free. He no longer lies about his very self, he has a devoted husband, and as of today he is once again officially licensed to practice medicine.

He used to associate Cardassia with repression, and now, in one of life’s ironies, it’s given him more liberty than he ever found in the Federation.

He is what he is, what he was made to be. As much as he misses the Federation, he can be happy on Cardassia. The worst he’d feared for so long happened, it wasn’t as bad as it might have been, and now he is moving forward with surprisingly little emotional trauma.

Besides the relief of no longer hiding, Elim has a great deal to do with the minimal angst, to be sure. Julian is finally thinking of his husband by first name these days; anything else would be silly.

Cardassia is a challenging place to start over, but he’s always thrived on challenges, and he is a newlywed in love, which is known to correlate very strongly with unbridled optimism. This new life is bittersweet, to be sure. Julian chooses to focus on the sweet.

He leaves the local branch of the Medical Authority with a broad smile and his official certification on a tablet, heading home to celebrate with Elim. In anticipation of this occasion, they’ve been saving chocolate biscuits from Miles’s last package. Said biscuits come highly recommended by Molly. 

“My medical license,” says Julian, holding up the tablet upon entering their apartment.

“This was a foregone conclusion, but we will celebrate all the same.” Elim looks at the certificate with pride. “Congratulations, my dear.”

It’s not just the license which means so much. It’s being an official doctor when the relevant authorities know about his genetic resequencing, the validation that he isn’t a freak or a monster. It’s acceptance.

“I am officially married above my station in life,” says Elim, not looking terribly concerned about this. His political campaign is also above his station in life, if one wants to get technical about the Cardassian class hierarchy, but he only worries about technicalities when they work in his favor.

“You also married an alien, so I think you’re still behind according to the traditionalists.”

“They may say what they like. I find our union to be exceptionally advantageous to myself.”

“I’m glad,” says Julian. “I’d hate to be the only one getting something out of it.”

Elim is all faux concern. “That would offend your ingrained sense of equality, I imagine.”

“Hideously.”

“I’m glad I could put your mind at ease on this point.”

“You’ve helped me sleep at night.”

“And a good thing that is. Your patients will need you well rested. I imagine you’re going on full surgery rotations immediately?”

“Yes,” says Julian. Not that he hadn’t been doing emergency procedures already – two collapsed lungs cannot wait for the next accredited doctor – but Dr. Karet has made it clear she intends to start scheduling him non-emergency surgeries.

He’s finally used to not being in charge. It took some adjustment, but it’s a great improvement over not practicing medicine at all.

They move to the _malon anbar_ , where they can dream up any furniture they like, and more comfortable furniture at that. Elim is still puffed up with pride in Julian’s accomplishment and, no doubt, that Julian chose him in the first place.

Would any of this – Elim, marriage, Cardassia - have been possible without the _malon anbar_? Julian can’t say. He’s not even certain whether their private universe grew out of intimacy they hadn’t admitted or forced them to become more intimate after it bound them together. It doesn’t matter, really. He’s grateful either way.

He is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. 
> 
> Thanks for all who've joined me through this series, and extra thanks for the comments and kudos which have meant so much. =)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find deleted scenes [on my Tumblr](https://aurora-nova-fic.tumblr.com/post/184399418570/deleted-scenes-bittersweet-symphonies)


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